


Skyrim Shorts

by LordoftheGauntlets



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 04:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 22,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14585154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordoftheGauntlets/pseuds/LordoftheGauntlets
Summary: Short stories involving characters from Skyrim, snippets of the game, moral decisions, and trying to balance family life with slaying dragons. Which is difficult.





	1. Full House

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's my first time posting on this particular site, though I have an account on Fanfic.net. My name there is Lord of the Gauntlets, and starting today, I'm cross-posting from there to here. I have NO idea how this site works, so bear with me while I change up the formatting, tags, etc.  
> This collection of stories is honestly all I've written so far, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the 20 something updates that shall come with this first one.

The house has been getting rather crowded as of late. Lydia notices, and disapproves, but unfortunately she can’t really do anything about it. Aranel seems to just attract people, and pets as well, and though Lydia wants to do something about it, she can’t object. Aside from her complaints about footprints, and the constant bumping into people, it’s not that bad.  
It started innocently enough with Aranel bringing home some elf. Lydia had clucked her tongue, but hadn’t done anything then. After all, it was only one elf. And who was she to question her mistresses decisions? The elf could sleep downstairs or something. But then, of course, things had started to escalate.   
Not long after the elf, she had brought home some dirty child. Not even a respectable child at that, just some dirty little girl who had been begging near the Gildergreen. And to top it all off, Aranel adopts her. Lydia still can’t really object, though she can’t say that she likes the banging of the doors at all hours or the constant muddy footprints.  
It really only gets worse from there. Aranel somehow finds a talking dog, and brings it home, and though she says that he’s only staying until she can find his mistress, Lydia knows better. Then there’s the other child. Just a few days after the dog, Lydia finds out that Aranel has somehow found another little beggar, and is bringing them home. She’s not sure where this one is from. It’s one of those big, winter cities, that she has never gotten to see, and probably never will. So, naturally, when Aranel is supposed to be visiting the honorable Greybeards (or something like that, she can’t keep track), she instead brings home yet another family member.   
At this point, they have herself, the elf, two kids, a dog, and Aranel, and the house is practically splitting at the seams. That isn’t a bad thing, she keeps reminding herself, but… still. She liked it better when Aranel, herself, and that annoyingly silent elf were the only ones in the house. But it brings Aranel happiness, and whatever pleases her mistress will please her. Hopefully.  
And then one of the kids brings home a fox. But that is a story for another day.


	2. Káno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing... Káno. The angsty one in the family.

Faendal has seen a lot of things in the time that he’s been in Skyrim. After all, he is an elf, and as such has been around for twice as long as most humans. That’s actually one of the reasons he is in love with Carlotta, though Talos forbid anyone catch him saying that. Her love of life, and desire to live life in the moment and to its fullest is something that, as an elf, he can relate to on a fundamental level. So he loves Carlotta. He had decided to spend the rest of her short lifespan with her, but then Káno showed up, and he blew that all to bits. Káno, who is infuriatingly self-sacrificing, intelligent and far too ambitious to survive in a land like Skyrim for more than a week.  
Maybe that’s the reason he followed Káno to Windhelm and beyond.  
Once upon a time, when he had only known their small town, and Carlotta, he would have said that adventuring was for the stupid. He might still say that. But now he knows that it’s also for the incredibly brave, the kind-hearted, the strong, and the tough. And while he doesn’t fit in all those categories, Káno most certainly does.  
Once upon a time, he might have cut all ties with Káno the second that the other man had helped him win Carlotta. Once upon a time he might have never come along on this crazy, extensive adventure. He might have even never thought about Káno again.  
Unfortunately for him, (or is it the other way around?), Káno had absolutely no intention of having Faendal drift away, and the human has only pulled him into this madness which he calls adventure even further. And Faendal is surprised to find that, for once, he doesn’t care.  
So he puts up with the human’s antics, is there to help him when they go off to fight, carry his stuff when the hoarding thing becomes an actual problem, and have Káno’s back when he decides to tick off all the city guards. After all, this uniquely stupid and brilliant man is the only person outside of Carlotta to see him for what he actually is; alone. So if he notices the fact that Káno refuses to let him out of his site, even if it means not taking a shortcut, is willing to jump in front of an arrow or spell for him, and would probably walk off a cliff if it meant helping him, Faendal just sighs and is there to patch him up.


	3. Aranel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A more solid introduction to Aranel. She's a bit of a spaz, but that's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't notice just how often I wrote with Faendal in these chapters until coming back to post them on here. Turns out, he's in a lot of chapters. And no, I will not pair him with my precious Dragonborn children. They have their own spouses to look forward to.

“So… have you lived here a long time?”  
Faendal sighed, and decided to go wait in The Bee and Barb. Aranel was speaking to Mjoll the Lioness, and it was obvious that she would be awhile. Aranel had this weird tendency to flirt with everyone in town, and despite his attempts to pry her away from the nearest object of her attractions, she always ends up gravitating towards someone. This time it’s Mjoll, last time it was some court wizard, the time before last, some Stormcloak soldier and so on.   
It has gotten to the point where Faendal has given up on trying to get her to focus on whatever they are doing at the time, and has started sitting back and silently laughing at her newest conquest’s bewildered expression when they realized exactly what is going on. Mjoll is most obviously not interested, and so, after a few attempts, Aranel makes her way back to Faendal sporting a large frown and a somewhat disheartened attitude. And before he knows it, she’s whirlwinding away again, this time latching onto some Argonian with a skooma addiction. He merely shakes his head, and follows along.

The Argonian turns out to be more trouble than she’s worth in his eye, though Aranel obviously doesn’t think so. In the end, they had to clear out an entire illegal skooma base, as well as about eleven people that he’s sure they would never have had to deal with if Aranel hadn’t gotten involved... again. And it wasn’t even worth it, seeing as they have yet to even get a reward for the entire operation. To top it all off, when Aranel went to visit the Jarl, she managed to acquire yet another thing to do, requested by the scatterbrained court wizard. Of course. However, he can’t really fault her for becoming involved in others problems. Aranel seems to have a heart big enough to encompass the whole world and then some, and though she’s willing to kill, it is only ever for the sake of others that she does so.   
This single minded loving does lead to some interesting scenarios, though. For example, just yesterday, the entire market of Whiterun got to witness Lydia throwing an absolute fit over the state the house was in when she got back. And shortly before that, he got to see her try to free a werewolf from where it was imprisoned (That proved to be a bad idea, but it was still amusing. After all, how many times in his life will he get to witness that?). However, for all the scenarios with… less than desirable outcomes, there is always at least one good one. And that is something that he has never seen before. In this land plagues with misery, war, politics, and legend, all that he has ever seen come out of the incessant war is more an more strife. Between neighbors, friends, and even brothers. But then Aranel comes in and somehow turns all that upside down.  
Faendal doesn’t think he had ever met someone who was legitimately kind before she came. Which, when he thinks about it, is something to mourn. Aranel is a light in their world of darkness, and perhaps their savior. The Greybeards know the answer, and maybe so does she. However, Faendal still wonders. Is she the Dragonborn because she is kind? Or is she kind because she is the Dragonborn?   
He is inclined to believe both.


	4. Skooma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short drabble on skooma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had forgotten this, but I do a drabble every four chapters. So here. Your obligatory skooma chapter.

Skooma, she finds, is far more trouble than it’s worth. Not only is it highly illegal, she also never drinks the stuff, and as a result, it is rendered useless. She picked a ton up from that big skooma bust a while back, and it has been sitting in her bag for months now, collecting dust. And it’s not like she can sell it either. Only a few merchants will buy. After all, not just anyone buys skooma, and although she bends the law on several occasions, she’s mostly never broken it. Mostly. So the skooma stays, and collects dust.


	5. Hoarding Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoarding. Always fun, especially in Skyrim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Káno has a few problems. I think, in a way, he's half of Aranel. The moodier, more mentally ill side. Unfortunately. I should probably round him out as a character sometime, but nah.

Káno has a slight hoarding problem. Just a slight problem. It’s not like he carries around about 300 pounds of weaponry, food and potions on a daily basis. And it’s not like he has about 1,000 more pounds of random junk sitting in a chest at home. The only time it becomes a real problem, he reflects, is when Lydia visits his house near Falkreath. And wow, when she does…  
He didn’t know that someone’s face could turn that particular shade of red, but apparently about five minutes of yelling without stopping for a breath will do that to someone. He’s rather impressed, actually. Even The Companions don’t turn that shade, which is impressive, considering the sheer amount of hijinks that he manages to get up to while in Jorrvaskr. He remembers, offhandedly, the time that he dropped bottle of skooma (quite by accident), in Vilkas’s chambers. Vilkas was convinced that it was him, but as he had no evidence, the best he could do was hide it, and glare at Káno for months afterwards. Káno avoided him for a bit, and after a couple weeks, nobody was speaking about the “Case of the Mysterious Appearing Skooma”, though he will occasionally hear the name, specifically when Farkas has been in the mead hall.  
The hoarding thing, on the other hand, is not resolved as easily. Lydia seems to finally have reached her breaking point, and she is threatening to kick him out of his own house if he doesn’t sell some of his stuff. Of course, the fact that the other day, Lucia somehow managed to completely mutilate the training dummy, (which, he notices, only Lydia uses), with one of his weapons has nothing to do with that. Right now, thankfully, only Lydia and Lucia are typically at home when he’s in Whiterun, since he takes Faendal with him. Unfortunately for Lydia, who seems to enjoy peace and quiet, he’s seen Lucia taking interest in some of the sketches of Frostbite spiders in his notebook. There’s absolutely no way that he’s ever going to let one of those monstrosities live in his house, though, so she has nothing to worry about. For now. He might just allow a mudcrab though…

Surprisingly enough, Lydia doesn’t have anything to say when Káno lets Lucia keep the rabbit, but personally he thinks that it’s less that she has become more tolerant, and more that she has a soft spot for fuzzy animals. After all, in a place like Skyrim, small, fluffy (alive) animals are fairly hard to come by, and don’t live long. There’s some sort of unspoken code where nobody kills a rabbit or a fox unless they’re really hungry, and nobody touches the tame animals. (The last one might have something to do with the fact that attacking an animal is liable to get you killed in Whiterun. Apparently it’s worth capital punishment?).  
So Lydia lets Lucia keep the rabbit, and if Káno ever walks in on her petting it and cooing to it, he keeps his mouth shut. Oddly enough, after that, she doesn’t seem to have a problem with his weapon hoarding. He wonders why.


	6. Sylgja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aranel finally gets a spouse. But doesn't settle down. Oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, this chapter was absurdly difficult to write. I haven't edited it, but y'know. It's okay. It's fine.

Lydia, after weeks of assimilating to the changes around the house, has finally conceded. She’s used to the kids. She tolerates the elf. She likes the fox (though she will never tell Aranel that). She even likes the dog! The. Dog. That is incredibly hard to do. But then. Of course, Aranel has to go and get herself the one thing that she doesn’t have already.  
A wife.  
So, naturally, rather than living single, Aranel decides to get married. Lydia doesn’t even know what to say to that. Except… It seems to be in Aranel’s nature to defy all expectations, and she’s doing a remarkably good job of that. Lydia had pinned her as someone who would stay free, and not become tied down by the bonds of matrimony. Honestly, though, Lydia thinks she should have seen it coming when she got the kids.   
In fact, Lydia really shouldn’t be surprised. She knows that Aranel likes to flirt with people. Lydia has even been on the receiving end of it once or twice, though Aranel has never tried that again. She’s watched Aranel flirt with the Battle-Borns, Aranel has flirted with the Companions, and she’s even flirted with the Court Wizard of Whiterun. However, Lydia always saw it as that, and never anything more. Maybe that’s why she never expected Aranel to up and marry.  
The girl isn’t even someone that Lydia has ever met before, though she did know that Aranel was visiting someone more often than normal. They’ve been on a break of sorts, and Aranel had been staying around the house. Lydia eventually kicked her out to go drink or something when she had been moping around for too long. After that, however, she only saw Aranel a couple times that week. She was always flushed and smiling, and Lydia distinctly remembers wondering if she had found gotten paid for clearing out another Forsworn camp or something. (Lydia wasn’t entirely wrong there, when Aranel wasn’t visiting that girl it turns out that she actually doing all sorts of errands for the Jarl of Markarth).   
She can’t really disapprove though, because if the girl brings Aranel that much happiness, then by all means, make her stay. It’s only one more set of footprints to clean, after all.  
As it turns out, Aranel’s fiance is a lovely lass from a mining camp. She has a very Nordic name, Sylgja, and no kids. She’s sweet and young, and walks with a limp from a mining accident. Lydia can see exactly why Aranel is so in love with her. A couple weeks before the ceremony, Aranel decides to drop by Breezehome with her fiance so that Lydia and the kids can meet her. Of course, everyone in the house is immediately taken in by the young woman’s good looks and pleasant manner. She isn’t tough like Aranel, but Lydia gets the distinct impression that she can give anyone a good tongue-thrashing if she has the mind.  
Their ceremony is short, but sweet, and more people than Lydia expected show up. In fact, there are so many people, that some of them are forced to stand. Both women are incredibly happy to receive their vows, and afterwards they head to Honeyside afterwards for some much needed rest. Lydia finds herself chatting it up with the Housecarl, Iona, and in all, it’s a pleasant trip. Lydia is surprised that she actually likes Riften (aside from the Thieves Guild, they can all rot), and even more so to discover that she actually like the Housecarl there. She leaves with a good feeling about the young couple, and is secure in the fact that Aranel will finally settle down, relax, and maybe go visit The Greybeards so she can end the war and get some peace.  
So, of course, Aranel does the exact opposite of every one of those things.  
Naturally.


	7. First Blood (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People die, a character up and leaves, and everything plays out like a D&D session gone horribly wrong. Or one gone fantastically right, depending on how much the DM hates the players.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not happy with this story arc, even like 3 months later. I'll rewrite it at some point, but for now it's going to stay like it is.

Káno carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Faendal didn’t even realize it until recently. After all, what with all the wandering, adventuring, and flat out drinking they do, it’s no wonder that he even sees it at all. But now, little things are noticable. Most recently, Káno proposed a trip to Markarth. Faendal agreed, since he had never been to the city before, and they took a wagon. Markarth is, without a doubt, the most beautiful city that he’s ever been to, and the towering stone fortress almost made him forget that they were in the middle of a civil war. So far, Markarth is mainly untouched by war. Being on the other side of the continent from pretty much everything, and shrouded in the impenetrable mountains that surround the city has its advantages.  
However, as their luck would have it, everything went horribly wrong the minute they set foot inside the city. They had both gaped once inside the walls, marveling at the architecture from up close, but as they had done so, there had been a scream. Káno had immediately drawn his sword, and Faendal himself his bow, and they had turned to find the source of the noise. Right in front of them, a woman stood, silhouetted in the early evening light. Her back was to them, face turned towards the setting sun, (night always comes early for Markarth), and she had fallen backwards, a reddish stain spreading on her torso. And almost out of nowhere, there had been a man. Faendal remembers that. He had appeared, right after the woman had fallen, and had begun to scurry away, knife in hand. As he did so, the two guards usually on post at the door had materialized as well, nobody having noticed them come closer in all the commotion. The man had been felled, the area quarantined, and all the questions that they had asked were deflected with practiced ease. However, Faendal had also noticed something that no one else had. In the moments following the murder of the woman and subsequent death of the man, Káno had stopped and searched both bodies.  
That had come to a head later, when a strange man had stopped Káno just outside the tavern, asking to meet them later through a note he claimed to have dropped. Káno, the self-sacrificing idiot, had not seen pending disaster and had gone. So now they are working on finding out the conspiracy behind the Forsworn. No big deal, they get jobs like this all the time. They might not pay very well, and might get them both killed in the process, but neither Káno nor Faendal mind that. There’s something else, though. Back in Markarth, Káno went to go check something out down at the “Haunted House”, while he stayed in the bar. Káno, an overly prompt person (except for when it comes to the millions of jobs that he has piled up), didn’t come back for nearly a week.  
An entire week.  
And when he did, he was sweaty, covered in grime, wounded, and toting an eerily glowing mace. Faendal didn’t ask where it came from, but he regrets it now. Because Káno’s face grows pained when he looks at the axe. And shadows have lurked under his eyes for weeks now, despite the fact that they are resting. Clearing out as many Forsworn camps as possible doesn’t seem to help either, which is odd. Neither does clearing Read Eagle’s tomb, which he would’ve thought that Káno would perk up at.  
Then they start moving up through the country. Clearing out Forsworn camps on the way, and killing a LOT of dragons seems to help a bit, and for a while the shadows go away.   
Then they make a mistake.   
Káno knows that he attracts dragons like Khajiit attract skooma dealers, and he knows that it’s not safe to go to town. But they’re running dangerously low on food, as well has space to store the accumulated treasures that they’ve picked up along the way. So they make the decision to stop by a small town in order to pick up some goods and get rid of others. And the moment they enter the town, two dragons swoop down out of the sky and begin raining hellfire on the town. Faendal isn’t too worried about their chances of survival. After all, they have all the town guards on their side, the dog, himself, and of course, Káno. However, the dragons don’t make it easy on them. One spits ice, immediately sapping one’s strength. The other, flames.   
The combination of the two attacks is enough to almost kill him, and enough to force Káno off a steep embankment and into the river. Káno’s head disappears under the river’s current, and all Faendal has time to do is cry his name before the dragons attack again. Finally, after several minutes of hiding and shooting, he manages to get it on the ground. By now all the guards are gone. He doesn’t want to know where. Káno, too, is missing. Faendal and the dog keep attacking, the dog running straight up and biting at the dragons, and himself shooting from the shadows. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a movement. Káno crests the hilltop and surveys the scene, taking in the state of the village, the dragons, the dog, and Faendal. The elf sighs in relief as he appears, and continues to fire arrows. Káno, he sees, has pulled out his bow and begun to attack as well, the force of his shots visibly rocking the dragon that he chooses to shoot at. Soon, the ice-breathing dragon follows to the ground, swiftly followed by the other. Faendal almost laughs in relief, then stops. Káno, rather than coming up to Faendal with a healing spell, as usual, has instead stopped on the path leading into the village and is staring at something only he can see. As Faendal gets closer and begins to turn the bend, he starts to see what Káno is looking at. First a foot, then a leg, then…  
He stops in his tracks, staring. Two people are lying on the ground, in a crumpled heap. He watches in shock as Káno drops next to them, and begins to frantically check for heartbeats. After several minutes of this frantic scrambling, he stops dead. Then leans back on his heels. Faendal watches nervously as his face drains of any color, and all of a sudden, the shadows are there again.  
The next few days are trying. Káno doesn’t speak unless it’s to tell Faendal something about whatever they’re fighting. They seem to be on a path up the coast, though he can only tell by the stars and other such natural signs. After all, Káno is the one with the map. Their fights seem shorter now, and more gory, fleeting almost, as if . Káno still fights like a demon, but Faendal notices something slightly different about it. He’s not sure what. There’s just some difference, other than the lack of speech. It’s as if someone moved everything in the house a couple inches to the right or left. There’s something off, but he can’t pinpoint what. Then there’s the mace, still glowing as ever, the shadows, the pallid color of his skin. None of that is what’s wrong, though. Káno seems to be getting over it, though, and a few weeks pass without any incidents. Whatever is off about him seems to be fading, and soon the feeling of “wrongness” is almost gone.  
When Káno up and leaves, however, he realizes that his assumption was very wrong.


	8. Mammoths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory drabble, with mammoths this time. I know it's ruining the flow of the story arc. I don't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAMMOTHS.

They’re passing by a large mountain range (though there are so many that she can barely keep track of them on her map, let alone in her head), when she sees wooly mammoths for the first time. Huge and towering, they pass almost directly next to her, shaking the earth as they go. Aranel can barely contain her excitement. They are like nothing she’s ever seen before! Towering over her, with long trunks like a snake, they’re almost a match for their giant companions. However, when she accidentally crashes into one a couple weeks later, she isn’t that excited anymore.


	9. First Blood (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of chapter 7. Self indulgent scenery descriptions, and a heaping amount of the bittersweet, because this could damn well be an analogy for just about anyone's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still hate how parts of this turned out, but I legitimately did this in game and felt it neccessary to include it in this set of stories.

Káno can’t help leaving. It’s not anything that Faendal said or did. It’s not even that blasted dog. He just can’t handle interactions at the minute, and it’s not their fault. It’s not their fault.  
He keeps saying that to himself, as if he’s trying to convince somebody. The only person he can’t seem to convince, however, is himself. Seeing those people, in town… He can’t help but imagine Faendal there, or Lydia, or anybody else he loves. Or even the dog, no matter how much he professes to hate the animal. Those people who were dead, he knew them. He helped them the last time he came by their village, and instead of helping them once more, he brought ruin down upon their village. And besides them, there were others as well. People whom he had helped, once upon a time. People he had saved. And then, even before that. With the Daedra Lord in Markarth. It had started out as one of those simple quests; “Come investigate this house with me!”. But the house wasn’t haunted. It was cursed. And the Daedra inside had deemed him “worthy” of carrying out his word. So in the end, he had been forced to kill not only an innocent man, but a priest as well. And all in secrecy.  
The worst part was, Faendal kept looking at him sideways, and the dog would occasionally sniff at him and turn away, like they knew he had done something wrong. At night, he felt like he had been wasting time. Like the longer that he sat, the more likely they were to be found by something. So he had to leave. If he isn’t with them, at least for a bit, they can settle down at an inn or something. They can relax without his curse looming over their heads. Everyone he comes into contact with seems to end up dead or worse, so perhaps if he leaves them alone then they’ll be fine.  
So he takes the problem away.  
And so, instead of taking a trip up the coast with them, he instead examines his long list of jobs for something in the area, and does that. And then another one. And another one. And more and more and more. He steers clear of major settlements along the way, keeping away from people and towns. Instead, he skips up North, and travels along the glaciers and ice floes. By night, he wanders by the light from the sky-lights, or what they like to call “the aurora”. By day, the light of the sun. He knows perfectly well that continuing at the pace he’s going at will eventually hurt him, but he can’t help it. Every time he stops to camp, that feeling comes creeping up on him again. So he keeps on. It’s when he finally hits the easternmost edge of Skyrim that he truly realizes just how far he’s come.   
All the way from Markarth upwards, then around, taking a northern route, then heading directly eastward.   
All the way across the continent.   
From there, he does what he sees as the only option. Heads South, again skirting major settlements. The one place he does stop at is Riften, when he gets there, and it’s only to sell items and get a decent sleep in a real bed, as well as a good shave and a fresh meal. The poor residents think that he’s some kind of apparition. They aren’t totally wrong. From there, he heads east once more. He meets up with the Dawnguard, a serious group of Vampire hunters and joins. The man in charge is taken aback by his appearance, and demeanor, but seeing that he truly means business, they let him in.  
It’s when he starts heading for Ivarstead that he truly hits a roadblock. The enemies west of Riften are far too difficult for him to take on alone, and after escaping from an encounter with a troll severely wounded, he begins to fear that his impromptu road trip is at an end. However, being more stubborn than a Giant, he keeps on, sticking to the more frequently traveled roads, unlike the rest of his trip. His wounds from the troll encounter only slow him down a little, and in combat don’t prove too debilitating. The only time they cause actual issues is when he is fighting with a dragon on the outskirts of a swamp. The wounds are fresh when that happens, and the dragon ends up almost torching him. He ends up wishing that he had Faendal and the dog, but has to banish the thought. After all, they might get hurt as well. And if that happens…  
He progresses through the swamp fairly slowly, the marshy terrain slowing him down a little more than he would like. The fights also take quite a bit whenever he runs into an enemy, and his progress ends up being impeded a little more than he would like. Nevertheless, he slogs on. Sleep is something of the past at this point, as he always has to be on the lookout for some sort of enemy, and he’s afraid that the circles under his eyes are dark enough to absorb ink. His self image is also something of the past. Ever since he entered the swamp he hasn’t been able to catch a good night of sleep, eat a full meal, let alone bathe. He hopes that before reaching any major civilization, like Whiterun, his intended destination, he is able to get some sort of bath. It’s worrying to think that he would have to walk into some sort of town looking like he does at the minute. Rather than think about that, he devotes his attention to fighting and walking, conserving energy rather than wasting it on useless worries.  
After about a week of more of the same, he finally reaches an area where the climate has begun to change from swampy, to cold. It’s actually fairly nice, and he welcomes the change of atmosphere. The change, however, probably means that he’s coming up on mountains, since he knows that there’s no way that it’s nearing winter. The mountains mean more difficult enemies, like frostbite spiders, ice wolves, and frost trolls, but after a week or so of traveling through the swamp, it doesn’t make much of a difference to him. The difference is even welcome to him. Clearing caves, killing slaughterfish, slaying dragons and in general having to deal with fairly dangerous nuisances gets monotonous after a bit. A change of climate is highly welcome, but unfortunately it doesn’t come until about three days later. The swamp, finally, evens out into dry terrain, and the dry terrain turns into high, sloping mountains. He heads towards them, hoping for some streams and forest. Anything that isn’t swamp is okay at this point.   
He isn’t disappointed, and actually ends up finding a couple places to rest along the way, for which he is eternally grateful. One day, he actually goes to sleep with the sun, and ends up waking around noon, which never happens. The weariness that had settled into his bones while slogging through the swamp is gone as he travels through the mountains. He suddenly finds himself with plenty of time to explore, see the sights, and just take it easy. The mountains are cool and beautiful in the spring, and all the wildlife is coming out around him. Everywhere he turns there is wildlife. Butterflies here, a fox there, a rabbit warren there. He wanders all throughout the mountains, marking off caves on his map, and painting in sections that he hadn’t had previously filled out. Some of the supplies he carries on him are rolls of parchment, as well as bottles of ink and quills. He tries his hand at some leisurely sketching, which, to be honest, is absolutely dreadful in the beginning. He realizes that he is absolutely dreadful at drawing live animals, but after some practice gets decent at landscapes. After all, he’s always drawing on his map. Landscapes aren’t that different from cartography, and when he’s feeling particularly artistic, he comes up with some fairly realistic looking pictures. A couple weeks pass in this fashion, with the pleasant interlude only interrupted by a few chance encounters with bears or wolves. These fights are overshadowed by the overall pleasantness of the peace around him. Finally, after what seems to be weeks of fighting, he can finally rest. However, there’s only so long he can stay in the mountains, and he eventually decides that returning to civilization and the task at hand would be a good idea. With a final, brief trek around the mountains, he says goodbye to the beautiful scenery, taking in the scents and sounds in peace, for what will most likely be the last time in decades.  
And so he leaves the mountains, heading for Whiterun, and then back off to fight once again.


	10. First Blood (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion of the story arc that began in chapter 7. I actually don't totally hate this story arc anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. This was spawned out of some stuff I did in game, as well as a general avoidance of all things people related for about a month. It wasn't my best move, but it felt good to come back.  
> Getting away from stuff helps to gain perspective on your life situations. So do just that, if you ever need to.  
> Serious stuff aside, I had way too much sugar this morning and I'm still feeling it. Whoops.

Going home is the hardest thing that Káno’s ever done. It’s been weeks, maybe months since he’s bothered to alert anybody that he’s even alive. In that time, he’s somehow managed to traverse the entire continent.  
All he had wanted at the time was solace from the ever present conflict. Now he realizes that it may be time to go home.  
Heading back to Whiterun doesn’t take as long as it should, so he stops at a farmhouse to get a real shave and bath before entering the city. The poor people at the farm are quite surprised by his appearance once he cleans up, though he supposes anything would be a shock compared to the scruffy mess he’s been for who knows how long.  
Whiterun looms into view as soon as he’s a little further down the road, and before he knows it, he’s almost at the gates. The guards recognize him, so he can’t look that different, and they open the gates, letting him into the city. And all of a sudden, everything he sees is bright. Whiterun is full of color, and sun, and people. Someone pats his back. A friendly conversation is being held to his right. There’s someone getting kicked out of the inn just ahead. People are smiling , laughing, shouting. And he realizes something. Sound is beautiful. And interaction with people, real people, is beautiful as well.  
And out of the corner of his eye, he spots a familiar face. Faendal is leaning against a wall, with the dog, looking none the worse for wear. So he smiles, and laughs, and shouts, and when Faendal turns, the look on his face is worth every one of those weeks he’s spent away.

Hours later, he sits at the table, home at last. Lydia scolded him thoroughly when he showed up, and then shocked him by giving him a hug. Faendal had laughed, the dog had… grinned. Sort of. And they had made dinner. Now eating, the conversation ranges from the most recent dragon attacks, to the dog pushing Faendal off a cliff. It never once, however, strays to the topic of his absence, only broaching it occasionally when necessary. He doesn’t mind, though he hopes that they’ll be able to discuss what happened.  
Finally, late that night, Faendal knocks on his door. Káno lets him in, knowing exactly what he’s here for, and they both sit down at his small table.  
“Why did you leave?” There’s so much worry in his voice that it almost makes Káno anxious. “We looked for you. You were too fast. There were almost no tracks. And everything is snow, so the dog was no help when it came to tracking. We had to come back here after a month, and you still didn’t show up. Why now? Why did you leave in the first place?! Just… if not for me, then for that little orphan girl. Lucia. You give her a coin everyday, right? Well, that’s how she gets food. If Lydia or I hadn’t been here, she could have starved. And you know what? She missed you, Káno. We all missed you. And now you just show up out of the blue, acting like nothing happened-”  
“Faendal.” The elf pauses in his rant, and looks back at Káno. “I’m sorry.”  
And that’s all he needs to say. They’re up until all hours of the night discussing the forsworn, and the coastline, and the bandit camps, but after that simple phrase, everything becomes much better. Somehow.  
And though the discussion about the mace helps, and talking it out is something that relieves emotional stress tenfold, those two words are finally what makes everything all right.  
And that’s all there is to it.


	11. Slaughterfishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA. DID YOU SEE MY PUN?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I care about is the pun. It's literally the only reason this chapter exists.

Káno dips his rod in the water, grinning. Lakeview manor was a good purchase. He’s been slowly but steadily building up the house, and now, after several days of blowing his money on stone and lumber, it has finally paid off. The entire main hall, small house, and basement are complete. Except for one thing. Slaughterfish. The floor plan has at least three spaces for wall mounted slaughterfish. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, but he’s sold all the slaughterfish scales that he has. So rather than buy them, they’re going fishing.  
There’s a lake that’s not too far away from the manor that they’ve decided on. After a leisurely afternoon of clearing out bandit caves, and messing around with the standing stones, they’ve gotten down to business and are fishing for slaughterfish. The first time they tried for some was using worms as bait. After all, what type of fish doesn’t like worms? Most of them, apparently. Not only did they not get the slaughterfish, they also didn’t manage to catch any other fish.  
Since that plan failed miserably, they then proceeded to tie the dog to a string, and let him out in the water. Oddly enough, none of the slaughterfish would even come near the dog. Káno likes to think it has something to do with how fierce the dog is. Faendal is more inclined to believe that it has something to do with how the dog smells.  
At the minute, they’re just using a myriad of different ingredients to try and catch the fish. However, he’s not so sure that those fish will come for anything short of a human.  
After several hours of pointless fishing, Faendal jokingly hangs a human heart on the fishing rod. Káno merely smiles, and goes back to fishing. The human heart will never work, though he can’t fault the elf for trying.  
Two seconds later, he’s staring in amazement as Faendal hauls a fully grown slaughterfish out of the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the better question is... why do they have a spare human heart?!


	12. Hoarding issues the second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Property management isn't an easy thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I have all the houses in game and still have no idea where half my stuff is.  
> This drabble is actually one of my favourites, because it finally draws a marked connection between my two Dragonborn children. They're both facets of the same character, but they are two completely different people. Whhiiich also means that they aren't as well rounded as they could be.

Both Honeyside and Lakeview Manor are newly acquired purchases. So Aranel, of course, refuses to let anyone else live there. It’s the topic of much debate among the house, although Aranel does have a point in saying that both locations are dangerous. As a result, both Honeyside and Lakeview Manor begin collecting unwanted piles of stuff. Books, food, weapons… All the housecarls can do, however, is politely remind (Read: Shout at) Aranel to consolidate and sell her stuff. Unsurprisingly, she refuses. That is, until she has to travel to three different homes just to find a pickaxe. Then she reconsiders.


	13. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwemer ruins and falmer and ghosts, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, one of the chapters I'm not too happy about. It calls for a rewrite, but again, I'll leave as is.  
> This concept is pretty cool, I just don't know how to write it.  
> I think my writing took a downhill around April, which was when I encountered the motherload of all stress: moving, combined with all sorts of other stuff. I'm currently on a short hiatus, so these are all just going to be updates until I reach the point where I stopped writing.

Káno is starting to believe that his favorite places to explore are Dwemer ruins. While the rest of Skyrim is lovely, he’s been all over almost every inch of it, and can indeed confirm that more than half the land is snow, marsh, and impassable mountains. That’s not a bad thing, not by any means, but a change of pace is nice every once in a while, and the Dwemer ruins are perfect for that. The echoing halls, the ruins of a long dead civilisation, and the architecture are enough to draw him in. The presence of the Falmer, and the need to restore the beautiful ruins to their former splendour are enough to keep him there.  
The first time he encounters such a place is while traveling. He happened across Reachwind Eyrie, a place high in the mountains, abandoned all but for Dwemer objects. He had climbed the narrow tower, wary of any enemies that might make themselves known, but there had been none. Only the beautiful, twisting structure, and abandoned pieces of metal lying around. It was at that moment that the beauty of the ruins became apparent to him. And then he went to Markarth.  
Markarth, built on the foundations of a Dwemer city, and in fact unconsciously living directly above the true city, was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. The stone climbed high into the mountains, houses were built with Dwemer architecture, and in the centre of it all, the Dwemer city upon which they lived. It was love at first site. Now, weeks later, he’s finally exploring the true nature of what lies beneath Markarth, and he finds himself happier than ever. The twisting tunnels, while home to Falmer, still echo with life beyond the horrible creatures that now inhabit the city. Káno is searching for what remains of an expedition lost to the tunnels, and the search led to the city. Apparently, the people of Markarth have finally discovered the truth about what their city is built on, and like any good people with a hunger to know, they have begun excavating. This particular job is born out of his curiosity to know what lies beneath Markarth. After obtaining the key to the ruins, and killing an overly large spider that had been lurking there, he had continued to explore the ruins, eventually stumbling across something that warranted exploring. As a result, he finds himself sucked into the deep, dimly lit halls. The place is beautiful, and mostly intact. Of course, Falmer prowl the halls, but they aren’t much of a problem. Until he and Faendal step into a room, and are immediately ambushed. The Falmer spring from the walls, and the shadows, setting upon them at once. He is almost immediately separated from the elf, and can only hope that Faendal can fare for himself as he battles what seems to be the leader. The group is large and vicious, deadly attacks hitting what seems to be every part of his armor. The leader is no pushover as well, and he finds himself hard pressed to keep up with the speed and power of the attacks. He pushes back, matching, and eventually overpowering the leader, then dispatching the rest of the group. Finally, he spins around, wild-eyed, only to find that the last of the Falmer lie dead on the ground. Faendal, however, is nowhere to be seen.  
He searches for the elf for hours, running back over the same sections of hall multiple times, and venturing deeper in case he might have left. However, Káno is unable to find his friend. The elf has gone completely missing, and it’s all he can do to keep from panicking. He stops at the foot of a staircase, and leans against the wall, energy completely gone. The low thrum of machinery fills the air, though quietly, and he sighs. As the nature of the situation sets in, Káno finally begins to truly worry. Before, the rushing about kept him busy. Now, in one place at last, he realizes that he is completely freaking out, and has no idea what to do. Faendal is such a constant presence, that he has no idea what to do about the fact that he has gone missing. As the realization hits, several things happen at once. The vents behind him suddenly turn on, expelling steam into the frosty underground air. As they do so, the light above him goes out, turning the fascinating ruins into an ominous prison. And something metallic collides with the side of his head.  
When he wakes, he is lying on the ground. The floor is cold, and slightly wet, probably with the water that inevitably seeps into the ruins. His hands aren’t bound, so whatever attacked him must have given him up for dead. In that case, it was most likely one of the dwemer guardians rather than a Falmer or human. The machines, as he has found out through trial and error, attack and cripple. Their goal is to detain or eliminate intruders, however, they do not come back to make sure their work is done.   
After listening to the sounds around him, and ascertaining that there isn’t anything in the proximity that’s moving, Káno finally deems it safe enough to cast candlelight. He finds himself in the same room he was before, albeit in a slightly different spot. Instead of at the foot of the staircase, he is now at the top, lying next to a group of bodies. Several Falmer, and one mage. He scrambles over, and checks the pulse on the human, but finds nothing. The skin is cold, and he has obviously been dead for a while. And as Káno looks up, he notices something else. Faendal is lying a few feet away, on the ground. He still has a pulse, though slightly weak, and does stir when Káno shakes him. Finally, the elf’s eyes open, and he looks about blearily. Before the poor elf can do anything else, however, Káno has Faendal by the hand, and they are out the door. In almost no time at all, they are standing outside the ruins, panting. Káno’s face is flushed, and he quietly sits on the ground to regain his breath. Faendal continues to stand, breathing heavily, and they both remain like that for several minutes. Finally, Káno stands once more, looking his companion in the eye.  
“What happened back there?”  
Faendal shakes his head, and looks at the ground.  
“ I have no logical explanation for it. One minute I was on the ground, about to be killed by the Falmer. The next, you were shaking me awake.”  
Káno pauses and considers his statement for a minute. If he himself had been having trouble with the Falmer, then it was obvious that his friend would have been overwhelmed. In that case, why weren’t they both dead? He sighs, pushing back hair from his face as Faendal speaks.  
“We… should probably come back another time.”  
With a hearty nod, Káno turns and leads the way out of the dig site, and back into the open air of Markarth.   
And while neither of them particularly care to look back, if they had, they would have seen the ghost of a long-dead adventurer turning back to the ruins from which he came.


	14. Murdering Thalmor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new face is introduced. Marcurio! The dude who I've started using as a follower, since I was bored of the elf. *Sorry Faendal*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun moral grey areas and stuff. Yeah. This is also good because it continues tying Aranel to Káno in terms of personality.

Marcurio likes to think that good and evil are black and white. Killing someone is bad, helping them is good. Stealing is bad, giving to charity is good. But in the short time he’s been with Aranel, he has started questioning that view of the world more and more. She steals, yes, and in the beginning he was going to report her. But after seeing what she does with the stolen goods, he isn’t so sure anymore. The food goes to farmworkers, and struggling families, while other items go to merchants in order to boost their trade. And some of it goes to her children. He isn’t so sure what he thinks of the “stealing but giving to a good cause” thing, but it isn’t evil, he knows that. So what is it? He isn’t sure.  
Then there’s the killing bit. When he signed on with her, he wasn’t certain where she was going or what they were doing. After all, she had looked like an amateur adventurer in need of assistance, and he had figured that they couldn’t be going anywhere dangerous. Now, less than two weeks later, he realizes that he was terribly wrong about that. They have (so far), plunged into more Dwemer ruins than he can count, sacked close to a hundred Forsworn camps, killed a few Thalmor, and run into dozens of vampire nests. The Thalmor are the ones that really bother him. After all, they’re some of the most powerful beings currently in Skyrim, and who does she think she is to challenge such authority? But she does, and they do, and he finds himself participating in the fights. Trolls and Giants become everyday occurrences, while actual living people become something of a rarity.  
Today seems no different. So far, they’ve cleared a few Forsworn camps, and she has murdered a bunch of Thalmor (again) on their way up the coast. A woman in Whiterun last her son, and she wants Aranel to find him. Personally, Marcurio thinks the man was killed while in prison, but Aranel refuses to believe that. Of course. So they’ve headed up the coast once more, and are now venturing into the more mountainous regions of Skyrim. Although, it’s safe to say that all of Skyrim is a mountainous region. The slog through the dangerous territory is exhausting, though rewarding. He gets an entirely new set of armour, and Aranel finally finds an ebony sword on one of the draugr they kill. Despite the amount of money and armour they collect, however, they still haven’t reached their end goal. It’s only been around three days, but minimal sleep has drained the energy from both of them, though Aranel appears to be holding up slightly better than himself. She’s probably had to do this before, he reflects. Thankfully, they have time on some nights to get a few hours of rest, and Aranel always carries food with her, so they remain in much better shape than they could have been.  
On the fifth day out, she spots the Thalmor fortress. While, Marcurio knows, she would rather initiate combat first, instead Aranel walks straight up to the fortress.  
“What are you doing?” he hisses, “You could get killed!”  
She doesn’t listen to him, and instead walks straight up to the front.  
“Excuse me.”  
The Thalmor on guard eyes her suspiciously, and quickly tells her to scram, sensing a threat. She tries to reason with him a few more times, but it never works. Finally, she turns around and looks at Marcurio. He swallows, nervously, as she starts smiling. And then she walks straight past the guard. At that moment, all of the Thalmor spring to attention, and begin shooting lighting bolts, arrows, and charging straight at Aranel. She merely continues to smile, and launches herself into the fight. He sighs, and starts gathering a lighting spell in the palm of his hand. However, by the time the spell is charged and ready to go, over half the Thalmor are dead, and the others are fleeing. He looses the bolt at a nearby one, and is gratified with a hit. Turning back, he spots Aranel, casually picking off the last of their fleeing enemies.  
She casually saunters back to where he’s standing, stopping along the way for a coin purse or arrows. Finally, she reaches him. He begins pacing in a circle, and finally speaks.  
“You are officially horrible.”  
She grins, and nods, storing the arrows in her quiver. There’s a weird mix in there, Orcish, Dwemer, and Elvish arrows all in one. He’s not sure how she stands the disorder, but then again, she is Aranel.  
“You really wanted a fight, didn’t you? And so instead of trying to find a way around… you killed them all.”  
Aranel pauses in cleaning her blade, and looks up.  
“Damn right.”  
He stops dead in his tracks, the snow crunching.  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
“I said,” she states once more, “Damn right.”  
And they look at each other for a minute, before heading inside the fortress. Because she’s not going to change, but he’s willing to, if it means fighting for the people of Skyrim.


	15. Khilheru (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First part of a small story arc. Introducing Khilheru, my favorite OC!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been totally dead up until now, but uhhhh  
> I'm back! This is a mass update, going all the way to chapter 23.

The following inclusions were found on journal entries from various sources. While only the Dragonborn's is needed for the investigation, the other entries have been included due to their connection with the Dragonborn, and possible clues to the village ruins found near the Aetherium shard location.

Found in a charred journal, buried deep beneath the earth. Only a few pages remain, this being one of the few legible bits.

Today I was approached by the most odd of people. He came from the main road that leads into town, with one other person. They were on foot, and the other man seemed exhausted. He was obviously a mage, what with the staff and shimmering robes. However, he still had a sword attached to his belt, and obviously knew how to wield it. The other one was dressed in armour, not an uncommon thing in these times, but a type I had never seen before. It was made of some sort of carved stone, and looked like it must have weighed a hundred pounds. However, he wore it like cloth, and moved incredibly quickly despite the stuff. At his side were two blades, one made of another material that I had never seen before, the other a shining dagger. Because of his battle-worn appearance, I was rather surprised when he made his way up to where I was working. And I most certainly did not expect him to begin talking to me. He asked me about the town, and the fields, and if we've had any dragon problems recently. I found myself rather embarrassed in the presence of a warrior, and ended up tripping over all my words. It was rather plain that he didn't mind, though, and he let me speak at my own pace. I talked a bit about our inn, and mentioned that we had no blacksmith, since he seemed like he might be looking for armour. I didn't ask very many questions since I was so nervous, but I did manage to work up enough courage to ask him why he was in town. He didn't really respond… Maybe he's a drifter? Or perhaps he's on the run from the law, and our town is so secluded that he decided to come here? Or maybe he is a great warrior, and is on a quest to save the world. Either way, he excused himself from the conversation directly afterward, and I think I might have scared him off. Nice going.  
He headed straight out of town after speaking to my father, and then turned left on the road and vanished out of site. I thought he was gone for good, and resigned myself to continuing to work without any other distractions. But then, later, I saw him come back into town. When the sun began to set, he strode in once more, this time with his partner, and they went into the inn. He waved at me, so he must have remembered who I was, thankfully! He didn't look too freaked out, and he hadn't completely left yet, so I must not have said anything too horrible. I retired from the fields shortly after, and stopped by the inn as well for some needed ale. The man and his companion were talking in a corner, and while they mostly ignored me, the one in armour smiled as I walked by. They both looked fairly serious, and I noticed that there were healing supplies spread out on the table in front of them. I sat down for my drink, and meal, but when I looked up they were gone. Lilah informed me that they had left the inn, and shortly afterwards, left the town. They seem to be gone for good now. I'll probably never see such a warrior again. And to think, I even forgot to ask his name. Of course I would.  
-Khilheru

Page taken from the journal of the Dragonborn, also found buried deep beneath the earth.

I entered a new village today. The villagers seemed fairly friendly, and I made a new acquaintance. He was the only one in the village who took more than a passing glance at myself, so taking that as a good sign, I went up to him. The curious ones usually know more about what's going on in their town. However, he got flustered as I came up to him, and only gave brief responses to my questions. I was about to excuse myself when he asked me why I was passing through. I wasn't sure what to tell him, though. It's not like I can simply say, "Oh yes, I was searching for Aetherium shards in Dwemer ruins that may or may not exist, with the help of a ghost who wa searching for them as well until she fell to her death." That would sound completely crazy, and while I may have that reputation in other areas, I didn't want to scare away a possible friend. I tried to avoid his question, but may have ended up completely failing. I had to excuse myself shortly after that, though, as I needed to rendezvous with Marcurio. He looked disappointed to see me off, and I hope I didn't scare him off.  
After meeting with Marcurio, we discussed the possible regions for the Dwemer ruins to be. Thankfully, they have to be somewhere in the area, as Katria's notes point to the ruins that dot this section of the landscape. I suppose we'll have a look in the morning. He and I decided to head to the inn to discuss more of the details, and hopefully stock up on a few supplies before leaving. As we were walking in, I saw my acquaintance once more. I waved at him, wishing to show that I wasn't avoiding him, and to my surprise, he grinned and waved back. We headed into the inn, and purchased some food, and a few herbs. I'll make a list below. My new acquaintance walked in, and I smiled at him, though I couldn't stop to talk. After some short discussion, Marcurio and I left town, choosing instead to continue our march. We are currently stopped in a small forest, near the bottom of the mountains. We've so far managed to avoid any large confrontations, and I plan to keep it that way. Picked up a few more bear pelts, and a nirnroot. I'll add those to my list below. The man I talked to back in town mentioned something about getting a good price for bear pelts, and I don't want to have to lug them around for our entire journey. I must remember to ask for his name the next time we meet. I can't keep calling him "my acquaintance," after all. Marcurio and I finished our preparations to go, and rented a room for the night. I'm in good spirits, and I'm sure that we shall find the shards before long.  
-Káno

Found on a scrap of paper, acting as a bookmark for the previous journal entry.

Damnit! We got too far into the ruins, and met with some Chaurus. They severely wounded Marcurio and myself before we managed to kill them. I've got to get us out of here, before we are killed entirely.  
-Káno

Found in a charred journal, the same as before. There is more to the entry, but it is illegible.

My acquaintance from earlier appeared in town once more, this time badly hurt, and carrying his friend. They are both in horrible condition, and I've only been able to skitter down a few words between fetching herbs and water for our local healer. However, I did manage to get a word in with the man… his name is Káno and he is on a quest.  
-Khilheru

Excerpt from the same charred journal, most notably one of the final pages.  
I entered the sick room today, only to find that Káno was wide awake, and looking at me. I got nervous again, being in the presence of someone so battle-hardened, and almost walked away. However, he motioned for me to stay, and so I sat down in the chair between his and his friend's bed. He asked me if I had been helping to heal his friend, whose name is apparently Markuryo(?) I'll have to ask how it's spelled later. I responded with a nod, and a smile blossomed across his face. "I'd say you've done a good job," he said. "Thank you. It's much better than I could have done." I felt it necessary to explain that I hadn't done anything, and that it had mostly been the work of Carran, our healer. Either way, he offered me a fairly large sum of money for helping heal him and his friend, which I had to refuse. I can't just take money from an injured man, especially when I'm not the one who has healed him. Káno looked disappointed that I hadn't taken it, but put it away, probably saving the money for Carran, oblivious as he is to hospitality and kindness. We sat in silence for a few more minutes, before I finally decided on my course of action. "What… what quest are you on?" He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "One that you could not possibly begin to comprehend, my friend." Then a look of horror dawned on his face. "I never asked you your name!" I laughed, because he was right, and spoke. "Khilheru. My name is Khilheru."  
"Ah. A noble name." I flushed, but continued to press him for details concerning this "quest" of his. Finally, he gave in.  
"You have seen the dragons, I am sure. But do you know of the Dragonborn?"  
I had, and responded as such.  
"I am the Dragonborn, and I am on a quest to rid the world the world of the dragon scourge, so that people like you and your village may live in peace. At this moment in time, I am trying to recover fragments of an ancient artifact from Dwemer ruins, although I am not sure what purpose that will serve."  
I was incredulous. The man who was staying in our village, who had come back almost dead, and who had (according to Lilah) drunk even Martin under the bar before he left, was the Dragonborn of legend? However, as I began to mull it over a little more, I realized that he could have been telling the truth. It would explain his odd armour and weapons, as well as the ungodly amount of keys, and various supplies he was carrying. Finally, he saw my slightly confused stare. "Listen, is this proof enough?" With his uninjured hand, he pulled out a slightly bloodstained letter from his armour, and handed it to me. "What is this?"  
He gestured impatiently for me to open it. I unfolded the parchment, and found, in shaky handwriting, summons to the Greybeards. I had to set it down, and I looked at Káno  
"Oh."  
He gave a hearty laugh, and took it back, stowing it in his armour once more. We talked for a bit more, until Carran came back in and promptly kicked me out, with the excuse that I was "Cluttering up my sickbay and TIRING OUT MY PATIENT, KHILHERU YOU IDIOT." (His words, not mine). I suppose I'll talk to Káno tomorrow… I still can't believe he is the Dragonborn.  
-Khilheru

Found on a scrap of paper in a forest near to the burned village. Not sure where to include this, as it is not dated, and could possibly fall anywhere.

Damn the man, he's tiring out my patient! There are only so many herbs that can help him heal, and Khilheru is not helping in the slightest. I'm heading out to the forest to gather-

Here the line cuts off, due to water damage. There is no more legible print.


	16. Missing Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short drabble break in between pieces of the story arc.

Aranel isn’t happy to find that one of her Ebony swords has gone missing. After all, they’re her prized possessions at this moment in time, since she can’t get her hands on anything more powerful (She doesn’t know if there’s anything more powerful out there, but if there IS, then she knows who’s going to be the first to use it.) So naturally, when she goes to retrieve it and it isn’t there, she freaks out. She even tears the house apart, but can’t find it.

Marcurio isn’t going to be the one to tell her about Lucia’s new sword.


	17. Khilheru (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second, and final, half of the short story arc.

Entry in the burned notebook.

Káno and I have been talking quite a bit, since he's finally recovering. He's been to the most amazing of places, and has seen some absolutely terrifying apparitions. The Dwarven Centurions, according to him, are nearly the size of mammoths, and hit like a Giant's club. He's killed over six of them.  
We've also been keeping close tabs on his friend, whose name is actually spelled as "Marcurio," according to Káno. Káno is very fond of him, and has been making sure that Carron is doing the best he can. Of course, this annoys Carron to no end, and he constantly snaps with Káno about doing his job. They kind of remind me of birds, when they only have one piece of food between them. But I can tell that Carron likes him. Carron finds it hard to genuinely dislike anything that he has tried to heal, especially somebody who pays him.  
Nevertheless, I still have to work, so I don't get to talk to Káno as much as I'd like. It's finally spring, and we have more work than ever to do. Not much grows in these times, so when it does, we have to work as hard as possible to make sure it stays alive. Much like that, we also have to take care of our own, and the people in this town have been on the lookout for bandit attacks. They've been increasing in frequency over the past month or so, though since my friend came, there hasn't been a single one. I'm not sure whether it's because he's the Dragonborn, and they know he's here, or if it's just pure coincidence. I've been looking into some of the herbs he recommends for healing. Since he's a warrior, I was astonished to learn that he knows how to create potions, and especially efficient ones at that. (Of course, this gave Carron yet another excuse to gripe, but that's what he does, so I've been ignoring it.) My friend also, apparently, knows how to enchant. I've been learning several beneficial skills from him, and they've actually been helping with the farm. Enchantments for sharpening, for enhanced stamina, for heat resistance (that one helps more in the summer), and, well a LOT more. I hope Káno stays for a while. He has so many stories to tell.  
-Khilheru

Entry in the notebook of the Dragonborn.

Marcurio still hasn't awoken. I'm slightly worried about his condition, but Khilheru assures me that Carron is doing his best. I can't write too much, as it still pains my arm to use it. When I heal, I'll recount the details of this past week, I suppose.  
I need to remember to make plans on how to train for those damn ruins.  
-Káno

Found in the burned notebook. Entry occurs the same night (presumably) as the ones following.

Something happened to Carron, and though we aren't sure what, we can take a fair guess. Káno is sitting next to me, trying (and failing) to read over my shoulder. He's as worried as I am, though perhaps not as shocked.  
Today, Carron went out to gather herbs for his patients. There were a couple of people who needed herbs for fever, as well as Marcurio, and some herbs needed for Káno's arm. I offered to go with him, but he declined, citing that I had work to do, and his patient to take care of. He left mid-morning, and told us that he would be back in the afternoon. We weren't too worried when he was gone for longer than expected, since he has a tendency to get distracted and wander, but when darkness fell and he still wasn't back, we began to worry. I wanted to go and look for him, but my father and the rest of the villagers refused. They said that there might be bandits in the woods, or perhaps Carron had fallen asleep or something. I didn't agree with anything they said, and so, being a complete idiot, I decided to go look for him. Since I had known that there were probably bandits, I decided to raid my stash of minor weaponry for something to defend myself with. Unfortunately, I had left my potion ingredients (since I was learning from Káno) in his room, so I had to stop by before I left. I dropped by, grabbed my stuff while he was asleep, and left. Of course, I didn't know that he was awake at the time.  
I left town after grabbing anything I thought I would need, and I headed out towards the forest where Carron normally gathers his herbs. It was pretty dark outside, and only the stars lit my way. The forest outside of our town is fairly thicketed, and densely populated by shrubs, bushes, and other forestation. I'm not sure what type of animals live in the woods, but judging by the lack of attacks, there aren't many. My trek out of town was fairly short, and I reached the woods within about ten minutes. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, though, so before I entered I merely stood there, looking around. The woods were incredibly dark, especially when compared to the rest of the world. So naturally, I decided to enter them. I did have a light, but it didn't cast far enough for me to see very far in front of me.  
I stumbled along for a bit, getting caught on every shrub imaginable, until I finally came to a clearing. There, the moon shone, and illuminated the small patch of… not grass. As I stepped closer, I recall a moment of complete horror. Large footprints decorated the ground, and the broken trees littered the forest surrounding the clearing. Stumps rose, jagged and dark in the light, although some seemed to have been reduced to splinters of wood. And among the wood, I could faintly make out wet splotches, as if something-or someone, had met with a grisly end. The next few minutes I cannot distinctly remember, except for a rush of sensations. The first was of disgust and terror, at the sight of what must have been blood. The second was absolute shock. As I stared at the clearing, a large shadow passed overhead. I must have frozen for a solid minute, until it came around again. Only then did I possess enough courage to look up. A large, winged shape, flying close to the ground was circling overhead. I might have screamed, if it hadn't been for the hand that clamped over my mouth. I'm fairly sure I shrieked, I can't remember, but a shadowy figure pulled me back into the underbrush. My attacker spun me around, and to my surprise, there was Káno. He shushed me, and led me back to the village.  
And that's where we are now. I explained what I had seen to my father, and he has gathered most of the adults in the town to speak about it. Although I should be there, he sent me to look after Káno, who almost collapsed as soon as we reached town. I'm not sure what everyone plans to do. We'll have to evacuate if this really is a dragon- after all, nobody has survived one of their attacks.  
(Káno claims that he has, but he's in no shape to fight. He still won't tell me what he was doing in the woods so late at night, though…)  
-Khilheru

Stupid, idiotic people. Khilheru still hasn't figured out why I was in the woods. Damn fool can't recognise when a person is awake or not.  
-Káno

Scrawled inside the burned notebook. The handwriting is hurried and cramped. All are done on the same page, though there is no date.

Made some food. Not very hungry, though. Káno ate and then retreated to his room. I'm not sure what he's doing. Probably checking in on Marcurio.

Nope nope nope, I was wrong. I walked in, and found him fitting on his helmet, and buckling on a sword. I cried something to the effect of "What do you think you're doing?!"  
He told me that he was going to fight the dragon. Lead it away from the village, so we don't have to leave. I asked about his friend, in a last ditch attempt to see if he would stay. He looked at me, then placed his hands on Marcurio, and after a few seconds, the man on the bed vanished.  
He left directly afterwards.

I'm here alone now, and I don't know what to do… I can't help him. Maybe I can find shelter in the nearby mountains, in case there are more? I need to warn the rest of them first.

They won't listen to me. They think there isn't really a dragon, either. But I know there is. I trust Káno. And I saw the monster with my own eyes. I won't flee, though. Not if my father and the rest of them can come.  
Instead, I shall arm myself, and wait.

I hope that Káno comes back safe.

Something is happening outside! I can hear crashes, and the ground rumbles. I need to get everyone to the mountains, if it-

Here the line cuts off, and the rest of the undamaged pages are blank, except for one note, in a different handwriting.

So that’s what happened. I didn’t think I’d ever find that journal you were always scribbling in, amongst all the ashes. You fireproofed it, didn’t you, you self-sacrificing, paranoid idiot.   
You know that I won’t read your previous entries, I suppose.  
After all, I know that they were never intended for me.   
And I hope that wherever you are, the atrocity of this world will cease to haunt you.   
And you can have peace knowing that I am safe, in a sense.  
This journal shall be buried as far beneath the Earth as I can find, and the same shall happen to my own, lest they fall into hands of those who would wish to harm me.  
Best of luck, my friend.  
-Káno


	18. Lakeview Manor and Chickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the title says. I think?! I'm not re-reading it...

-Quicksilver  
-Steel  
-Bone powder  
-Troll fat  
-3 Ebony ingots  
-1 flawless sapphire (Check tombs?)  
-Bear pelts- need 10 for Tenga, buy at least 3  
-Nirnroot (Should be in ingredients chest in Honeyside. If not, check Breezehome, chest on left in entrance)  
-Do we need any healing supplies? Buy as many as necessary/can afford  
-As many health potions as possible, I’m almost out  
-Quick heal spellbook (Farengar should have one, if not then don’t bother, I’ll get it myself)

Marcurio sighs, and stares at the list. “Aranel, what is this?” She grins, and pulls out her ingredients pouch. He notices that it’s almost empty, and she emphasizes the point by sweeping her arm around it. “This, my friend, is why we need to go shopping.”   
He swipes a hand over his face. “I understand that. But why are you making me get this for you?”  
“Because. I am a known thief, and nobody trusts me, while you are a nice person who storekeepers trust not to steal their stuff.”  
She pushes him out of the house, and walks out as well, shutting the door behind her.  
“Aaaand, it gives me time to go steal stuff and murder people without you harping on me about your moral code.”  
A small wolf charges up to them as she starts locking up, and without looking behind her, she pulls out a small dagger and stabs it, turning and stowing the key as she does so. Marcurio ignores the wolf, having not even registered that it was there.  
“Murder people. That has nothing to do with a moral code, Aranel! That’s just common… knowledge! Yes, knowledge. You don’t go around killing people and say that it’s okay!”  
“I do.”  
He turns on his heel and heads towards the wagon. She might be kidding, and she might not be. He can never tell with her. Then he realizes something.  
“Wait. Where am I going to get half of these?!”  
“At the store.”  
Aranel flashes him another smile, walking over to her herb garden as she does so.  
“I’m sure you’ll be able to figure something out. Most of those are sold at the alchemists place, and the few that aren’t might be in one of my stashes. Uh, but you might need some money… These things don’t come cheap.”  
She flips him a medium sized coin pouch. Peering inside, he finds several gold pieces, and tries to total the worth in his head. He gives up after a few tries, and merely stows it in his armour. There’s no point in arguing, as she’ll likely just shoot him down for it. He looks up at the manor, taking in the turrets, the stable, and everything else that they’ve added to the house.  
Lakeview Manor is an interesting place. Aranel is clearly in love, though he’s not so sure about it himself. The place is incredibly dangerous, and altogether too expensive for any sane human being to afford. Not that he particularly disagrees with either notion. But he’d rather they not be in debt, or worse, dead. Aranel, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care. She’s been spending the past week sinking more and more time into the house, as well as about half of er gold. It’s kind of worrying, but he prefers not to think about it. And it’s not like she’s using it for anything practical, either. They just built a greenhouse addition on the side, which is interesting, but serves no real purpose. In fact, the only practical thing addition they have is the enchanter’s tower. She built a library on the other side. The library is fairly congruent with her personality, though. Aranel has a bit of a book problem.  
The place is constantly attacked by bandits, which is a pain, but the giant attacks, and the dragon attacks are far worse. Aranel can usually exterminate the threat in a few minutes, but sometimes it takes longer. There’s been an increase in Elder dragons recently, and sometimes the fights can last up to thirty minutes long. Those instances usually culminate in Aranel losing it, and shouting at the dragon as often as possible, and chugging health potions. Marcurio usually tries to help, but since the one fight a few weeks ago, she hasn’t let him near a dragon. It technically wasn’t his fault. After all, she’s the only one who can stand up to dragon fire and escape unscathed. Recently she’s been more than a little paranoid, though, so he hasn’t disagreed with her “stay out of the way during dragon fights” policy. She is his employer, and he doesn’t want to disagree. While the killing (sometimes innocent) things bit isn’t exactly his cup of tea, this lifestyle has turned out to be something that he enjoys above all else. And it’s not like his oddly charismatic employer is someone he would have met otherwise. So he’s thankful for the position he’s in right now, even if the job comes with a few minor hiccups.  
Recently, they’ve gotten animals at the manor. First a few chickens, then a cow. A horse was, of course, to follow, and although he doesn’t know if bees count, bees. And a bard, though the poor man doesn’t count as an animal. Marcurio forgets his name. And then, of course, they have the person who takes care of the house. She’s the housecarl from Falkreath, he thinks. Her name is Rayya, or something. He’s always nervous around the housecarls. They all give him disapproving looks, and then continue about their work while glaring daggers at him out of the corner of their eye. Aranel already owns around five properties, which is a lot, so she has as many housecarls, and he gets as many stares. He also notices that Aranel has slowly been arming all of them. Right now, he can’t think of a single housecarl who doesn’t have some form of powerful weapons and armour.  
The bard, unfortunately, isn’t armed. In fact, he’s fairly useless, and only eats up their food and makes music. But, once again, Aranel insists on keeping him. So the bard stays.  
Beyond the attacks, life on the lake is idyllic. Sometimes there’s snow, occasionally rain, and typically bright sun. The one thing that has (so far) shattered the peace, was when a giant killed one of the chickens.  
Right after an attack, they had gone to check on the animals. Instead of the three live chickens (who had some obnoxiously long names that Marcurio didn’t want to remember), there were only two. The other was completely flattened, like the chicken version of hammered metal. Aranel had sworn vengeance, and had quite literally gone on a giant killing spree. They had buried the chicken in the garden (as fertilizer, she cited) and had gone on with their lives. Marcurio, however, had not expected Aranel to start using the chicken as an excuse not to work. Which she is still continuing to do. If he asks her to help him with something, her excuse is “mourning the chicken.” If he gives her a gentle reminder about saving the world, her excuse is “mourning the chicken.” Thankfully, she hasn’t escalated it any further than that, but he’s still worried.   
He’s waiting for his chance, however, to pull the phrase on her...


	19. Shorts inside Shorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, I didn't mean the article of clothing. A series of small writing prompts which I couldn't find enough material to write full blown chapters for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much all of these are based on situations I ran into in game... except the first one. I do like to think that the characters have more interactions than "Hello, my love." and whatnot. Hence the prompt.  
> Uhh oh yeah! Feel free to suggest prompts and stuff... I'm always open to character and situational requests!

Aranel likes to think that she raises her kids right. She plays with them, and will give them a treat every once in a while, and lets them keep pets. For a warrior, with fists of steel and muscles of… steel, she is gentle when it comes to them. But, every once in a while her particular way of raising children is cause for some sort of martial dispute. Today, for instance. Today Sylgja apparently decided that letting the kids play with knives (and, apparently her ebony sword) was a bad idea. The resulting argument was enough to wake all of Whiterun, and perhaps the guard tower as well. Not that she cares. But Sylgja obviously does, and it took her all of an hour to finish with Aranel. Now, some time later, she may regret getting into that particular fight. Sylgja has the keys.

For some reason, every merchant in the entirety of Skyrim seems to be out of steel. Káno has been to all of the merchants he knows, and literally none of them have steel. Everyone seems to have rare materials, like “refined moonstone” and that orichalum stuff, but nobody has steel. All he wants to do is reinforce a helmet. But nobody has steel.  
Marcurio wonders why there are dents in the wall of the training room the next room.

When they walk into the tavern, Aranel expects for a good night’s sleep. Of course, this, like everything else, does not go according to plan. She somehow manages to summon a ghost by staying in its old room. And of course, as is the way of things, the ghost has some unfinished business. And that is how she ends up exploring more ancient catacombs while she is supposed to be on break, and inadvertently almost getting herself killed in the process. 

It’s not Marcurio’s fault that he is incredibly clumsy. He can’t help it that when he tries to avoid traps he ends up stepping on them. Káno thinks otherwise. After this most recent incident, they both agree that Marcurio will have to work on his agility. This most recent incident also has Marcurio frantically trying to find out how long it takes for hair to grow back. Káno has threatened murder if he steps on another trap, and he can’t say that he is particularly eager to die.

Aranel can’t always see the blindingly obvious. So when they are looking for something hidden, this can prove to be… unfortunate. As someone who can miss three mammoths standing right behind her on a good day, Faendal has to laugh and turn her in the opposite direction when they start looking for a specific cave.

At the end of the day, the people are the most important things in all of Skyrim. The motivation behind the greatest of warriors, the most musical of bards, the most famous scholars. It all boils down to the bonds that they have made with others. Because at the end of the day, those they have changed will stand for them.   
And as the heroes of old and new relied on their bonds, so will the Dragonborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this site works but it'd be nice if people could review, or show support in some way. That's be great.


	20. Dwemer drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm mildly obsessed with the Dwemer. You can tell. So here's another short drabble with the Dwemer. Yaaaaay.

In an area off of Markarth, they find their first Dwemer ruin. Ancient and old, the tower looms above the landscape like an ancient guardian. It probably is. Watching over the place for centuries has taken its toll, however. The outside is chipped and weathered. The inside, however, is well preserved. There are no enemies, nothing to be fought. Merely a staircase, and some fallen plates. Everything is quiet, and it smells like stone, and the dust of hundreds of years. On the outside, all there is is a balcony. And the darkness speaks of ages and people long forgotten.


	21. Request fic: Walden (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a request fic that I did for a champion of justice (yes, actual username) on FF.net  
> The second half is actually pretty good, so I decided to post it here as well.

The travelers sit around the campfire. Remains of food litter the ground, and cooking utensils sit by the fire. None of the travelers are asleep, however. They sit around the fire, talking.  
“You’ve heard the legend, of course.”  
The dark-haired man on the far right grins.  
“Which one, you idiot?! I know thousands.”  
The woman speaking laughs.  
“The one of the Dragonborn. He who saved this land from ruin? We’ve been talking about this for hours. Weren’t you listening?”  
The man shakes his head.  
“Of course I was listening. You-”  
“Okay look, I know that you weren’t listening. But listen. Remember that woman that we met last week?”  
“Yes.”  
“She was in that legend. The young woman, the housecarl? She was that old woman. And she told me a story.”

Walden grinned, shaking his head. Hair flew around his face, and wet drops flew around the room. Lydia laughed at his antics, then scowled as the water hit her face. She didn’t like unwarranted projectiles, water droplets included.   
“You’re leaving today?”  
It wasn’t really a question, and they both knew it. He’d been planning this trip since the moment he heard from The Greybeards. And both of them knew that she was going to argue with him until he left.  
“Yes. I have to, Lydia. I wish that I could stay a little longer, but as you know, the world awaits!”  
Lydia scowled. The young man had only been with her for a few weeks, and he was already off to the Greybeards. Those damn old men, living at the top of their mountain of ice. Wielding too much power for any mortal man to be able to handle. And off they go, summoning this man who has never done a thing in his life to warrant that kind of power. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit upset towards them. After all, this man was her charge. And she couldn’t have him running off to the highest regions of the land, especially not when the dragons were back. He might not be strong enough…  
Walden broke her out of her worrying with a pat on the back.  
“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Lydia. And don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I should be back in a few weeks, okay?”  
She scowled even more than before.  
“My thane, with all due respect, I am coming with you. You haven’t heard the tales of High Hrothgar. It’s not a safe place far anyone, even the so-called ‘Dragonborn’.”  
He finally stopped looking jovial, obviously bothered by something. Perhaps the invoking his new title had been the correct decision.  
“Look, Lydia, I don’t want you to come with me.”  
“And why ever not?! You need help, and if you go alone, you may die! The fate of the world rests with you, if you truly are what they say. You can’t let that go to waste!”  
Walden merely grinned, teeth flashing for the millionth time.  
“I’m sorry.”  
And he turned and walked away, leaving her defeated. Lydia was shaking, and had her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she still left him alone. If the damn fool wanted to die, then so be it. Let it never be said that she didn’t at least try to stop him.  
It wasn’t until much later on that she realized what he had truly been trying to save. Not his pride, not his dignity, and most certainly not his life. Somehow, some way, hers was more important than that of the legendary Dragonborn’s. And she treasured that gift.

“You can’t possibly be done!”  
The woman laughs.  
“Of course I’m not. But we’re losing Taz.”  
The dark haired man leans over, and pokes the sleeping girl.  
“I’m sorry! I swear I didn’t mean to fall asleep, it’s just so late and I’m so sleepy and I can’t help it-”  
“-No, it’s fine. I’ll continue tomorrow. Laque, you’re on guard duty tonight. Good luck!”  
The dark haired man splutters out a complaint, but takes her command in stride. The rest of the travelers retreat into their bedding, and finally, all are asleep.  
And as the fire dies down, the silhouettes of their forms cast long shadows on the trees.


	22. Drabble piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short fragment of something else I was working on. It got out of hand, and couldn't be salvaged, but this one bit in particular stood out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want... this can be looked at as a continuation of chapters 15 and 17. More on that later.

I don’t take too much stock in fate… A lot of that stuff comes out of the mouth of those who tell me I’ll live a long and happy life. We both know that won’t happen, and yet those crones think they have earned the right to charge me for lies. It’s okay though. I lead a dangerous life anyway, so I have no doubt that I’m destined to die young. Hopefully gloriously, and on the field of battle. I’d hate to be one of the missing, or the fallen soldiers who died “dishonorable” deaths.   
And you know what? It’s funny. I don’t even know what I’m fighting against. The Empire, maybe, or the Stormcloaks. Against the dragons? Perhaps. The Daedra? Not exactly. I live fast, and hard, and I live and die by the blade. That is the way of things. But I feel like so far, my quest has no purpose. I help people, only for them to have their homes burned down. I fight the dragons, only for stronger ones to appear. I murder, and I steal, and I loot, and where does that get me? The Empire wants me to join them. The Stormcloaks want a warrior. The people want a savior. They say I am their warrior, their savior. If they knew just how I live, would they still believe in me? I’m not the byproduct of some twisted whim of fate. I am my own person! And i refuse to conform to the standards set by people who have little concept of what it truly means to lead.  
Enough of that. Last week, I got a lead on where the survivors of that town may be hiding. If he is among them, then perhaps I shall seek out my purpose in life. If not, he is merely another one I have failed to save. Another one whose “destiny” was to die.


	23. Request fic: Walden (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final half of the two part request for a champion of justice, on FF.net.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally caught up with my current chapter number from FF.net. From here on, there will be an update on Wednesday, as well as one on Monday. From there, there should be two updates per month until I hit 100 chapters!   
> Thanks for reading!

A shout, loud and ringing echoes through the camp.  
“WAKE UP, YOU IDIOTS!”  
The travelers rub their eyes, gritty with exhaustion. The grey light of morning filters through the trees, illuminating the remnants of last night’s dinner. Pieces of cookware lie scattered about, and the charred pieces of wood from the fire are still warm. The horses are still tethered, and are lazily eating at the grass. The tall woman surveys the scene with thinly veiled disgust.  
“I told you layabouts to clean up when I left for water! And it still looks exactly as I left it. Just what were you doing all this time?”  
Taz, the small blond girl gives a sheepish grin.  
“...Sleeping, Miss Leader Ma’am?”  
“Don’t call me that. It’s not my name” The tall woman snaps, and turns to the rest of the travelers.  
“You should all know better. Taz gets a pass, since she’s a kid,” A noise of protest from the girl in question. “But that doesn’t mean the rest of you are allowed to lie around and pretend you’re at home doing nothing.”  
The small camp springs into action as the last words leave her lips, and within minutes all are ready to hit the road once more. As they begin the journey, the small girl falls back to where the tall woman is riding along.  
“Um I hate to be a bother, but… will you ever finish that story?”  
The woman sighs, looking down.  
“Fine.”

Lydia didn’t see him again for a long while after that. At the end of the first week, she wasn’t too worried. After all, the mountain was a long way off, and there were many enemies to fight along the way. At the end of the second, she was still unconcerned. At the end of the third, she began to wonder. A month was a little more than necessary to reach the mountain and return, so maybe the three weeks wasn’t so bad. However, it was possible that he had been delayed. Perhaps by a storm, or bandits. Maybe even an injury. But when the fourth week came to pass, she found herself becoming increasingly more worried for his safety. The man couldn’t have been that delayed. So she sent a runner to Ivarstead, with a message containing a few choice words on just how late the damn man was. He returned empty handed.  
The messenger informed her that her charge, the blasted Dragonborn had headed to some city to track… assassins? She didn’t even want to think about it. The messenger was harried enough, and had left the message with the woman who ran the local inn. Apparently the town had been rumored to be haunted or something, and Walden had done everyone a favor by clearing up the rumors. And had killed more than a few bears. Again, she didn’t want to think about it.  
Unfortunately, the runner informed her, the city that Walden was heading off to was more than a month’s journey on foot, and there might be destinations past that. To prove his point, he had pulled out a map and shown her the exact distance. She had sworn up a storm, slammed a dagger next the the poor man’s hand, and had stormed out of the room.   
For the next month and a half she had busied herself by cleaning. Cleaning all the time, fixing weapons, making sure to murder any bandits within a mile of Whiterun, and the like. But in her free time, she worried. And so she kept busy.   
Then, a messenger came. From the town of Ivarstead. And he bore news of the Dragonborn, or so the guards at the gate said. She had sprung upon the man like a cat to mouse. He had almost squeaked in fright, but still handed her the message. Tearing it open, she had found news not much to her liking. Walden would be gone for far longer than she had anticipated, and was also tied up in the civil war. So Lydia sighed and went back to work. She scouted out guard posts, fought more bandits, managed all of Walden’s financials, and still nothing.  
She took up arms the next week.  
The world outside Whiterun was harsh, and traveling by foot wasn’t always a good idea, but she quickly learned how to make her way through the country. Walden wasn’t with the Stormcloaks, or the Imperials, and everywhere she went he seemed to be just ahead of her. Rumors of his deeds spread like wildfire. People said he was amassing an army of his own. Others said he was to join the Stormcloaks. Or the Imperials. Some thought he was going to stay in the shadows, perhaps as one of the Thieves Guild, or… she refused to even think the name of that shadowy cult.Eventually, though, she caught up with him. The ruins under Markarth, perhaps, weren’t the greatest place to have a reunion, but they had to do.  
He almost sent her home.  
But her stubbornness prevailed, and he gave in.  
And so, they waged war on those who stood between them and peace, even up until the final fight. For Alduin was no pushover, and while they managed to slay him, it came at a great cost. The Dragonborn was slain, and with him, the last hope for peace in the Empire.   
With no balancing force in the civil war, and no army to rise up from the shadows and defeat both of them, the conflict lasted for over ten years. The land was laid to waste, and across the land people collapsed. Systems of government fell, ancient treaties were broken, and brother turned on brother. But throughout it, there was always one figure who stood above the rest. She strived to bring peace to the land, and in place of the man she served so faithfully, she brought the fight straight to both the Stormcloaks and the Imperials. In both cases, the leaders were either slain or forced to surrender and flee; she preserved their honor by telling no one of their exact fates. And with the power and experience she had gained from traveling with the Dragonborn, she pushed others to establish new systems of government. And when her task was done, she faded into obscurity, choosing to live a life of adventure in the wilds rather than lead. After all, to lead was always the job of the Dragonborn, not the ones who served him.  
So now, though the land remains ravaged, and the people still savage at heart, the land is once more becoming stable, thanks to the fight of both her and her Thane.

The younger girl, Taz, blinks back tears as the story closes.  
“I knew he had died for us, but why did he have to leave people like her behind? Why couldn’t he have stuck around a little longer, just to see the land that he fought for become whole once more?!”  
The woman smiles, softly.  
“It was not his destiny. But it was hers to help the land, and so she did. We may all learn from their sacrifices. Lydia almost lost her goal in life when he died… But she found it again when the land needed her. And Walden, he completed his goal with the defeat of Alduin. And those others who loved him, all the people he had helped, they found a new destiny. One to continue the fight of the Dragonborn.”  
Taz looks up at her elder.  
“How do you know that?”  
“Because,” the woman fixes her stare on the horizon, “I am Serana. And I was one of his companions… in more ways than one.”  
And with that she spurs her horse to the front of the group, leaving the girl to stare after her.


	24. Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory drabble. On cooking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that the next chapter is supposed to be special! Since it's a quarter of the way to my goal. So it might not be that different, but it's going to be something slightly new. I think. It's that or it'll just continue chapters 15 and 17. Maybe.  
> Once again, an update on Friday, and then after that twice per month is going to be the schedule. Sometimes more, but it depends. I've got a few Lord of the Rings works in progress, as well as some Fire Emblem stuff, so that's coming up.

Lydia didn't expect Aranel to be so into cooking. After all, she had met many warrior women, and few of them seemed to show any interest in household chores. But Aranel seemed to have a fascination with the culinary arts, and half the time that she was home, Lydia would find her cooking at the fire pit. Lydia started bringing home ingredients and leaving them by the fire. It pleased her to see her Thane using them, and so she kept it up. And when the marketplace saw Lydia with a basket full of herbs, none of them questioned it.


	25. Quarterly Special!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tying up of loose ends. Otherwise known as: I try to do something different and it sorta works and kinda doesn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY. 1/4 of the way to 100! That's something to celebrate, so instead of champagne you guys get this.

The Dragonborn’s journal. It is bound with hardened leather, and upon closer inspection, is coated with spells. There is a will on the first two pages, and the rest are covered in a messy scrawl. Shopping lists dot the pages, and small scribbles adorn the edges.

Came across another ruin today. I wanted to stop and take a look, but Marcurio was a little antsy, since it was nearly nightfall, and so we didn’t go in. Pity. I’ve been looking for more draugr to practice my archery on. I got this new crossbow, and enchanted it. Its name if Frostbite, which Marcurio informs me is possibly the least interesting thing I could have picked for a weapon. But it is incredibly powerful. Just yesterday I took down a dragon with it, which is an impressive feat normally.   
We’re on the road back to Whiterun, after a month long trip to other parts. It’s actually fairly nice to be on the road again, despite anything Marcurio might say. He protests mightily, since recently we’ve been having good food, drink, and warm beds. But it’s almost winter, and I need to head back to make sure the kids are okay. Lydia is a great Housecarl, but she isn’t the best with children. Their pets are another matter…  
-Káno

Buy:  
Steel (x20)  
Iron (As much as possible)  
Pickaxe (1)  
Axe (1)

Misc. Please find:  
Slaughterfish scales (x6)  
Bear pelt (x3)  
Saber cat teeth (x4)

 

We’ve been on the road for about three days now, and we seem to be making good time. Frost hasn’t set in in the warmer areas, and the mountains don’t count anyway, since they’re always snowy. We’ve also had very minimal encounters with enemies/wildlife. We took care of a few bears, though, so I can cross that off the list. Must remember to do that. We did have an encounter with a troll, though. That in itself is somewhat worrying. Usually don’t see them in this area, so I’m not sure if it’s some sort of omen or not. Marcurio seems to think that it’s got something to do with the early winter, or whatever. I do trust him in that regard, but I’m not so sure he’s correct. Doesn’t matter. It’s getting to dark to see what I’m writing, so I’m going to cut this off for tonight.  
-Káno

Took care of another bear today. They’re getting to be a real pain in the neck. Something we’re carrying must be attracting them to us, because I don’t think I’ve ever been attacked as much as this in the span of a week. On the plus side, we’ve been traveling for around a week, and have made about half the distance. I’ll be able to see Sofie and Lucia soon, which sounds good to me. Our rate of travel might get to be a little problematic, unfortunately. The horses are getting tired, and though I don’t feel any fatigue, Marcurio says I look like death....  
After looking over some of my previous entries, I have realized that I quote Marcurio more than I probably should be. Maybe because he’s the only person I really interact with? Who knows. Might as well be married for the amount of times I include his (rather unnecessary) opinion in this journal. Oh well.  
The horses are fed and Marcurio is taking first watch. I’m turning in for tonight.  
-Káno

Never mind. Blasted dragon attacked right after I went to sleep. I’m taking first watch.

 

Marcurio has been pestering me as to why I keep this journal. I actually don’t know? Maybe it’s because if I die, then maybe someone will find this and know what happened. That is, if I remember to write in it. I’ve been keeping up on the journal entries, though! They’re all up to date, except one or two. So there. It’s also… kind of how I remember Him. But never mind that. I got a lead on Him just to other week. If I’m right, He might still be alive. That journal… he left clues of a sort. Clues in his personality, and where He was hoping to take the rest of His village. But I’m not sure. That will be my next quest. My first is to make it home. Which is marginally harder than it sounds.  
-Káno

Halfway through that blasted mountain range! As soon as we’re done there, we’ll be within sight of home. Not bad. We had to stop a day to let the horses rest. Dealt with a giant. The usual. It’s kind of funny. The first frost hasn’t set in in other areas of the land, but up here in the mountains there is eternal winter. It gets on my nerves. I don’t particularly care for the heat, but it’s much nicer to know that the heat will (eventually) give way to cooler weather. Not in the mountains, though. Eternal winter. Crazy, isn’t it?  
-Káno

Dealt with a frost troll, a dragon, and three more bears today. In under an hour. Which is a little out of the ordinary, but… oh well. We got through the mountains after those fights, and are in sight of home! Thank god. I’m sure the kids will be glad to see me, though I’m getting the feeling that Lydia miiight not appreciate how late I am. It’s probably okay, since I’m alive though. None of the horses were injured, and Marcurio only had some minor scrapes, which I took care of via healing magic.   
-Káno

Need to buy (Farengar?):  
Light spell  
Familiar spell (?)  
Elemental, what’s it called, Flame atronahch, ateronach, atronach?  
That ice thing I wanted  
Oh a soul trap spell thing should be good too

Made it back home! Our trip took a much shorter time than I expected which as nice. On the downside, there was an increase in attacks. I suppose it’s because of the weather changes, maybe they’re growing bolder? I’ll have to check with someone who understands animal behaviour. Lucia and Sofie were ecstatic to see me. Then again, I did bring presents, so they may have been happy about those. Lydia was pleased as well, partially because I was safe and sound, and partially because she doesn’t have to take care of the kids anymore. Sofie tells me that she snuck the rabbit into Lydia’s room a night or so ago. She was giggling too hard to tell me the rest, but I get the idea. Since I’m finally home, I guess… I guess the next option is to track down the lead I got. I’ll start with analyzing the paper.  
-Káno

I don’t care what the stereotypes about warriors are, I was able to trace that damn paper to a city on the coast. There’s a lot of lore surrounding it, especially necromancy. If what I think has happened has occurred, then I might not be in for the reunion I was anticipating. Hopefully it hasn’t, but if my friend has become the victim of a dark necromancy rite… I might have no choice but to kill him. Which would be even worse than having to lose him to fire.   
It’s too bad that I have no idea what exactly happened. If only I had been closer to the village… Now isn’t time to dwell on the past, though. I must make preparations. I leave within the week, for fear that the trail might go cold. How I wish that the note included more details.  
-Káno

We set out today. Bought all my materials from the local merchants, though nobody sells steel. Thankfully I had that extra set of armour I had refined. Lucia sulked in her room when I went to say goodbye. Sofie was extremely tearful, as usual, and Lydia thinks this is a fool’s errand anyway, so she wore an expression similar to Lucia’s. It’s bad enough having two children in the house… Had to go on the other horses, ours are still weary. I did try to convince Marcurio to stay home, but, I admit, I’m glad he’s here. He told me that he’d probably get on Lydia’s nerves anyway, which is fair.   
Farengar sold me those spell books, and then I robbed him blind with my dragon scales and bones. He was all too happy to buy them. Sometimes I feel bad about draining all the merchants of their wares but it’s their fault for buying so much.  
I love Whiterun. It’d be nice if I could just spend a month at home, without having to worry about those blasted dragon attacks, or going to see the Greybeards. Or whatever. Not to say that I haven’t visited the Greybeards. Agh who am I kidding this is my journal.  
-Káno

Journey took about three days. Shorter than I thought. Then again, it did help that I was able to teleport us to a town close to the one we’re in now. Not many attacks, which, compared to the frequency of those on the last trip was surprising. We arrived at nightfall, got a room at a local inn. Everyone here seems to be friendly at first, but whenever I try to find out more information on the supposed necromancy they turn cold. What if all of them are in on it? Or, worse, undead. I’ll have to get close enough to check the pulse of someone, I guess. Marcurio got the same reactions wherever he went as well. We’ll have to be careful. I was hoping we’d be able to rest here, but as the people seem… untrustworthy, we’ve decided to keep a watch. I’m first, si for now I’m just going to scribble in this book. Got nothing better to do.  
-Káno

Still can’t get any information out of those people about a possible necromancer! But, at a cave just by the seaside, I found fresh blood, and some of the elements needed for a reanimation ritual. The tide had covered the opening, and… I can’t swim. Marcurio volunteered to check it out, but I didn’t want him going down by himself. We’ll look into it tomorrow, when the tide is out. In the meantime, we’re spending some time apart, as always, trying to speak with the villagers. Wait, no, he just got back. He’s taking first watch. Damn. I hope this all turns out to be okay, because at this point in time I’m getting the feeling that we might not make it out unscathed.  
-Káno

Marcurio has gone missing. 

I wrote that in a panic two nights ago. I haven’t slept since, and still haven’t been able to find him. When I got up that morning, we split up as usual to go for one more attempt to question the villagers. When the tide went out, our plan was to meet up by the cave. But when I got there, he didn’t show up. He never showed up. So I dropped by our rooms, and he wasn’t there. I left a note for him to stay in the room when he got back in case he got there before me, and set out to see if I could find him. I haven’t stopped looking since then, and the one place I haven’t gone yet is the cave. I suppose he must be in there. But, and it pains me to even write this, I- I can’t go in. It terrifies me, the idea of being in that space, surrounded by water. What if the tide comes in and I’m still inside?   
But then I think. What if Marcurio went inside and got trapped? Perhaps there was a cave in, or perhaps he was forced in by an enemy spellcaster. In that case, he might not be able to free himself. So I’m going tonight. I know a place to store this, which is (hopefully) waterproof. I don’t want my journal pages ruined. In case this is the last of me… I have my will made out on the first two pages, as well as stored with Lydia in Whiterun. In the case that Marcurio does not survive, anything which goes to him is to go to Lydia. Did I write that? I’m too nervous to think straight. It’s time to leave.  
-Káno

That night, the night I wrote that. It was cool. The moon wasn’t quite full. The tide had just left, and I remember standing by the seaside. I made it down here, though. I’ve been in this cave for… I can’t even tell how long. I though it would be simple, an in and out sort of thing. It wasn’t. Once the tide came in. It washed all the way up to my mouth, and I thought I was going to die, I couldn’t even scream, I almost fell. That was the most terrifying moment of my life. I’ve got a light spell, but it only lasts a few minutes. There are no torches. I’m scribbling this by the light of that spell, and even as I write it’s fading. Time to press on.

 

I found the necromancer. Damn him, for all that he has done. I’ve been observing him from the shadows for an hour or so. He’s sleeping now. It’s time to strike.

 

I was wrong. It’s not just a necromancer. There’s a whole vampire coven here. Is the town where the rest of them reside?

 

Looking back on those last journal entries, all I can recall is utter terror, anger, and grief. I feel it even now. They didn’t kill Marcurio, thank the stars. They were intending to keep him as food. Even as I write this, he is resting by my side. The town is burning, which is fitting. I can almost warm my hands in its blaze. What a pity, the only thing that spoiled it for the first few minutes were the screams. I was right, though. The entire town was a vampire coven. They had found Marcurio loitering outside the entrance to their food store, and by the looks of it, knocked him out and dragged him under. Did I mention that they are remarkably good swimmers?   
These were intelligent, too. They hid the entrance to their food supplies somewhere they could reach at all times, but where no ordinary human could get to if the tides weren’t just right. Down there… all I could smell was the stench of rotten flesh. Inside many, nearly hundreds of small cages, there were humans. Some merely skeletons, waiting to be- disposed of. Others were still alive, though barely. It was a sight which I am sure I shall never forget. All I can smell if their rotting flesh, and all I can hear are the whimpers of pain. One thing I also hope I never forget is the screams that the vampires made as I burned them… Marcurio is waking. I shall leave off this narrative for now. There are others who need my help.  
-Káno

I did get the other ones who lived. The survivors. Some had been bitten. None were full vampires, so I teleported them to the nearest altar. They will live, I saw to that. As for Marcurio, he’s fine. He’s sleeping soundly, and I refuse to wake him. But within his hand, I did find a scrap of paper. It matches the one I found, in both handwriting and composition.   
-Káno

Marcurio informs me that the one I seek is hidden. The vampires knew exactly who we were. And they knew I’d come. They were hoping to ransom him, but their plans went awry as soon as they caught Marcurio. They knew that I can’t swim. Even now my blood runs cold when I think of exactly what they could have done. I am returning to the side of the cliff, where Marcurio tells me they kept the rest of their “food.” He’s staying behind. I thoroughly obliterated the coven, and it’s daytime, so he should be safe. There’s cover nearby in case of a dragon, so that’s accounted for as well. I hope- no, I pray that I find the one I seek. Hopefully, after that, this blasted search will be done.   
-Káno

There is a scraping of a lockpick, and with the creak of well oiled hinges, the door disguised as rock swings open. In the entrance, silhouetted by sunlight, a young man with black hair stands. He peers in nervously, brushing hair out of his face as he steps inside. The smell of rotting flesh once more water outside. He, however, doesn’t seem to react, so focused is he on searching the cavern. His eyes scan the rows of cages, some once more filled with bones, others with humans and animals in various states of decay. Finally, a cage in the far right corner catches his eye, and he steps forward. From a pocket in his tunic, he pulls out a handful of lockpicks. His hands are shaking so badly that the first and second ones break. But, of course, the third manages to unlock the door of the cage. A limp figure tumbles forward, and squatting, the young man catches it. Another young man, closer to a boy and with brown curly hair tumbles forward. And the first pulls him up to his feet, eyeing him with the air of one who is deeply concerned. The brunette manages to pull his eyes open long enough to catch a glimpse of his saviour. As they do, the first breaks into a glowing smile, and pulls the other forward into an embrace, speaking as he does.  
“Khilheru.”


	26. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sylgja shows her face once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was posted in like  
> June, on FF.net, at least. I'm more active there? Come visit?  
> There will be another chapter coming in a few days, I swear 0_o I'm very busy, and din't even know this wasn't posted until today, so here it is?

Adapting to a new environment is something that humans, and most of Skyrim's races are good at. Unfortunately, none of them seem to care much for said adaptation, or any of the side effects that come with it. In this case, Aranel isn't to happy about what exactly she has to do to adapt to her new lifestyle: that of a mother and wife. She's always been a fighter, Sylgja reflects, and settling down probably wasn't on her "to do" list. But then they met, and it's pretty obvious that their world was going to turn upside down from there on out. So their parenting can be described as… "haphazard" at best, and nothing short of laughable at worse. Of course, it's difficult to adapt from an old lifestyle to a new one, with a beautiful but absent wife, two somewhat (maybe very) rowdy children, and the endless parade of visitors, salesmen, priests (someone thought it would be funny to hire an exorcist to "fix" her wife), and everything else that seems to be vaguely humanoid and capable of sentient thought.

She was a miner before this, so of course she's had her fair share of working with people. Cruel overseers, kind guards, and everyone in the morally grey area. She remembers (very vividly) the one time she hid three illegal skooma smugglers in her house. They had been sentenced to death in Riften, and had come across the mine on their way out of the place. Despite being convicts, and perhaps not the most savory of characters, all three had been very sweet, and had even paid her for her hospitality. She sometimes wonders if they managed to evade capture. Sylgja hopes they did, though with the people in charge of Riften, she isn't very confident about it. They were nothing compared to the orcs who had come through the week prior, and the girl who claimed to be the last of a dead race the week before that. So when she is forced to deal with people who want to talk to Aranel, or the occasional salesmen, or the wandering prince on some noble quest, she takes it in stride.

Aranel isn't as good with visitors, and since the children idolize her, they follow her example when it comes to dealing with people. The last one went running down the street on fire. Sylgja knows because she was on her way back from the blacksmith's when it happened, and she was the one who made sure he didn't burn to death. Despite that, they do have a fairly healthy relationship with the people of Whiterun, and since Aranel is a Thane, most of her activities are conveniently overlooked. Such as the time that the neighbours witnessed Aranel chasing Lucia down the street, apparently screaming something about weaponry. But Sylgja doesn't want to know about that, and so she makes sure to deal with everyone else who may come their way. Aranel may be kept in the dark (most of the time), and Lydia may suspect what is keeping them quiet, but the civilians are far too frightened of her to say anything about their family's odd antics. And so, life goes on.


	27. Solstheim interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all lazy, interpret the title or just read the thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned how much I hate this site's formatting?

“Snow is horrible. Now, that isn’t to say that all snow is horrible. But I’d be lying if I said that I loved it. It’s cold, and wet, and it gets everywhere. Everywhere. Then, whenever I go into an inn, or a house, all of it melts and I’m left standing there in an ever growing puddle, trying to look serious while talking, or ordering, or whatever. Solstheim is no exception to this ‘rule of snow.’ If anything, it’s worse. In skyrim, blizzards are rare, and occur while high in the mountains, or not at all. The rest of the land is covered in beautiful trees, waterfalls, and grass. Green grass, which actually grows. In areas where it isn’t snowing, that is. Sure there are rocks, and some of the more inhospitable regions of the land feel like a constant frost spell, but those places are easy to avoid. I simply don’t conduct business up there.”  
Marcurio tolerates the rant with his typical, patient silence. He knows exactly why Káno is going on and on about Solstheim and exactly how much he hates it, and it’s not to say he isn’t thankful for that, but it does get a little repetitive at times. Káno likes to narrate things to himself, which, Marcurio suspects, is one of the reasons he keeps a journal. Probably a leftover habit from childhood, the quirk has obviously stuck with him, and has turned into a rather endearing oddity about his friend- he can’t really say employer anymore- that few other people seem to get access to. These full blown rants, on the other hand, are somewhat rare, and are usually his way of exhibiting stress. Their current predicament would be the best example of such.  
“However, Solstheim is completely different. About half the island is dirt. Not grass, but dirt and ash. The land is dark and barren, and hot as fire. Some locals say it’s from the volcano, others say it’s magic, others say it’s both. Either way, those regions are torture. The north side of the island, however, is anything but dirt. In fact, nobody really knows if there even is dirt, so far underneath the snow it must be. There, the winds constantly swirl, and snow hails from seemingly every direction. Putting an end to Miraak didn’t seem to do anything, either. The land is still as cold and barren as ever. That area sees a small band of nords, the Skaal, as well as some ugly tiny blue creatures, which hurl spears at anyone who falls afoul of them. Kind of like us, you say?  
He hasn’t, but Káno doesn’t stop to wait for a reply, and plows on ahead. As usual.  
“Exactly. Exactly like us. One of the damn things even left a dent in my armor. It’s not as bad as the Dwarven ballista, or whatever they’re called, but still. I spent weeks working on that set of armor! I spent gold working on that set of armor! And one of those little… gremlins tries to damage it? No. Not okay. Also, apparently, there are also evil bears? What are they called, werebears? That doesn’t sound right. But this land is dangerous. And it-”  
A loud screech comes down from the mountains, causing Káno to lose his train of thought. He almost drops Marcurio’s arm, but manages to grab it and maneuver him back upwards. They both glance at the sky, beads of sweat chilling on their faces. Presently, Káno turns, having decided that whatever it was meant them no harm (at the current moment) and they both continue on. They had gotten into a couple fights earlier, which had unfortunately resulted in Marcurio sustaining multiple leg injuries, and Káno losing more blood than he had thought possible. Marcurio still has yet to see where his companion’s injuries were, as that blasted Daedric armor hides everything, but he hopes they aren’t too extensive. On the other side of the island from any settlements, in the freezing cold, without health potions, and with multiple injuries is not how he hopes to die, and Marcurio is sure that Káno doesn’t want to go like that either. Káno looks at him, obviously concerned by the look on his follower’s face, and begins to move faster, quickening his pace to a half run, and shunting Marcurio to a position where he is able to carry him rather than merely support the other’s weight. Marcurio objects rather strenuously, voicing his fears of Káno leaving a trail for possible enemies to follow. Káno, naturally, responds by turning and shouting at the ground with some sort of ice thing, the frost rune perhaps, which easily covers the ground.  
“You really shouldn’t expend energy like that, you know.” Káno brushes his concerns off, carrying them towards a nearby cave. He sets Marcurio down outside, handing him a portion of wrapped meat. “I’m going inside to check it out. Wait here, don’t get yourself killed.”  
Marcurio partially wants to argue with his friend, but upon hearing the short, terse, sentences, and seeing the fearful glint in Káno’s eyes, he stops himself. The other man is frightened, as is he, and he realizes with a start that Káno is dripping blood onto the snow. He opens his mouth to mention it, and with a flash and the smell of smoke, Káno is gone.  
Marcurio sighs, and leans against the stone, unwrapping the meat. It gives him back some of his energy, and he finds himself in the mood to tend to his wounds. Pulling out the cloth roll of bandages, he wraps and tends to the wounds which are accessible, not wanting to expose those underneath his boots until they are- unfrozen. The wind howls around him, and it seems like Miraak’s voice still echoes in the frozen chill. Marcurio shivers, drawing in on himself. Miraak is dead, thankfully, but seeing his friend wrapped in Hermaeus Mora’s vines for hours on end was a nerve wracking experience, and one he would not care to repeat. Káno has spoken little of what transpired in the realm of knowledge, but Marcurio sees a look in his eyes which speaks of experiences far too terrible to recount. And there is fear. But not of Miraak, never of Miraak. There was fear for the Skaal, and the Dunmer. There was fear for the lovely young woman they had brought with them into the ancient crypts. And there was horror, as they had seen her father slaughtered by the being with whom Káno had made a deal. Now, there is fear for Marcurio.  
He ties off the last bandage tighter than he meant to, and winces as the dull ache confirms his mistake. Káno bursts out of the cave as he does so, sees the wince of pain, and almost immediately drops to his knees.  
“Are you okay?! Did something happen?! Are you in pain?”  
He smiles fondly, glancing at his friend before untying the bandage. Káno is too worried about what could have happened to notice, and is jabbering on about some safe spot to rest and checking him over and whatever else seems to be going through his mind. Marcurio lets the tirade run its course, finishes tying the bandage, and stands up.  
“Káno, it’s fine. Let’s find that spot you were talking about, so that we may heal.”  
His friend immediately stops talking, opting to nod instead, and leads the way into the cave. It’s actually much nicer than he had thought, being sheltered from the elements and with a natural pool and… actual herbs. In fact, it’s something of a blessing that they managed to find a somewhat nice cave out in the middle of nowhere. Káno rolls a large rock into the opening of the cave, effectively sealing it away from any enemies, as well as the driving snow. There is only the room they are in, no other passages, and his companion finally sits down as soon as the stone is in place. Removing his helmet, Marcurio sees just how badly the man is injured for the first time. There are multiple abrasions on his face, as well as a long, but thankfully shallow, cut which runs from near his ear to his chin, cutting through the corner of the mouth. If it leaves a scar, it will be faint, but, he reflects, in the meantime Káno is going to look quite a bit more intimidating. Glancing from his comrade’s face, he worriedly notes the blood dripping from some of the chinks in his armor. However, Káno refuses to take it off, and so Marcurio sets about cleaning and bandaging his own wounds. They silently light a fire, which immediately begins to warm the small area, and Marcurio sets about the task of cleaning his armor and clothing. As he begins, Káno speaks.  
“Did I ever tell you how I managed to buy all the houses in every hold?”  
Marcurio laughs, shaking his head.  
“I didn’t even know you had a house in every hold… why, exactly, did you feel the need to own all that property?”  
Káno shrugs.  
“I’m not sure… it was some time before I met you, when I was traveling without a companion. Faendal wasn’t with me at the time, and I didn’t feel like working on some of my more pressing jobs, so I decided to acquire more property. Don’t get me wrong, I had intended to only get a house in Riften. But then one of the guards, no not my friend in Windhelm, the one in Riften, mentioned that there was a house for sale in the capital. I got pretty distracted after that…”  
He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, wincing as it comes away spattered in blood. He quickly lowers the hand, keenly aware of Marcurio’s concerned look, and continues.  
“I had already helped a lot of people in each separate area. So fulfilling that requirement was fairly easy. But I had next to no money at the time, having sunk almost all of it into training. Those men are thieves, I tell you, cold blooded thieves. Anyway, I was running around all over the country, trying to scrape enough money together to furnish close to five houses- five? Maybe six, I don’t remember. “  
Káno pauses for effect, and chuckles at the look on Marcurio’s face. Marcurio doesn’t find it as funny, and promptly shuts his mouth.  
So I started haggling. And by haggling, I mean, driving the prices up to proportions that should not be allowed. Anywhere. The shopkeepers would go bankrupt. As it is, I drained at least seven merchants of their savings, and a good deal more have only a bit of gold to spare. I’m not sure why they buy all the goods I give them… it’s a little odd. Maybe they just like me? Anyway, I somehow managed to get a pretty hefty sum of money together, and promptly visited every, single, hold. Every hold. By the end of the day, I had outfitted all of the houses with furniture, the housecarls were moved in, and I was broke again. And as they do, the Jarls sent word to the other holds, notifying them that I was a Thane in their court.  
The problem was, since the missives were all penned the same day, they arrived at each other’s courts with the next batch of mail, and the official documents. So within the week, I had letters from all of the Jarls, questioning as to what exactly I was doing, and why they had received letters from the others. It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever set in motion, and I can tell you that I couldn’t actually step into their halls for quite a while after that, if to simply avoid the legal hassle. Things calmed down after a bit, but I’ve got the name Káno Six Thane across several holds, and every once in a while, one of the palace guards will remark on it.”  
Marcurio grins, filing away the nickname for later. He had often wondered where the friendly jests that came his comrade’s way were from. Another mystery solved.  
Káno leans against the wall, and begins removing his armor. The undertunic is drenched with blood, and his leggings have fared no better. He glances at the pool which lies underneath their feet, and with a nod from Marcurio, slips in. He comes up a moment later, spluttering, and almost immediately hops back out. Marcurio bursts into laughter as he sees his friend drenched from head to toe, and looking for all the world like a wet cat. A muttered curse floats his way, and he jumps as a moment afterwards Káno shouts at the water. Flames erupt on the surface, heating the water at least temporarily, and the other man quickly walks back in. After a short period of time, in which Marcurio finishes his cleaning, Káno gets back out, now clean. He’s much paler without the layer of dirt, but after climbing up onto the ledge, Marcurio sees that his wounds are obviously not as bad as he had thought. Both of them sit in silence for a while, Marcurio mixing potions, and Káno tending to his own wounds. And in the silence, and the warmth, Marcurio realizes something.  
No matter what happens, they are both going to be fine.


End file.
